#and throat-clawing🤔

[catfortress]

snipurr...can we see those claws?

Good for hunting!

[thegnomelord]

I wonder what’s the aftermath of the gaz baby trapping fic?? 🤔🤭

Okay this got me into another hyperfixation so here's a super quick thing. NSFW, MDNI FTM Gaz/ cis male reader

One line.

Gaz's fingers shake as he stares at the pregnancy test in his white knuckled grip. Acrid disappointment burns at the back of his throat, sharp tears prickling the corners of his eyes as he lets out of a long breath. He shakes his head and tosses the damned test into the bin, trying not to think of it as he washes his hands.

He tries to make sure he doesn't look like it bothers him, but you're perceptive, "What's wrong?" falling from your lips the moment you see him, and shit, if that doesn't warm his heart.

"Nothing love." He eases your worries as he gets into bed in record time, huddling up next to you and feeling your arms wrap around him. "Just a bit under the weather. Rookie duty." You make a sound of understanding and pull him closer, laying gentle kisses on his lips and cheeks and anywhere you can reach until he's giggling against your lips.

"Good night." You mutter once you're satisfied and think you've lifted his mood. He stays awake after you've fallen asleep, simply staring at your slumbering face, your warmth seeping into his marrow.

He'd been so sure it would take, he'd ridden you until you were shooting blanks. But at the back of his mind he had thought this could happen, understand he had been sloppy, his chances lessened by you being injured and him having freshly come off the infertility drugs.

So he takes his time to do it with precision this time: Carefully timing his cycles and using fertility drugs, eating the foods old wives tales claim will boost the chances of him getting pregnant.

So he's confident when he seduces you into sex again on the one evening both of you are free; not that it takes much — simply meeting your gaze across the meeting room and licking his lips has your attention fully on him, a small nod of his head all it taking to have you follow after him.

His fingers claw into your back from how tightly he clutches you, heels digging into your flanks and hips gyrating to meet your thrusts as you pound into him. He's so loud you're sure you'll get complaints come morning, but right now you couldn't care less except to hear more of his moans and whimpers and cries as you fuck another load into him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes- oh love more!" He tries, sweet cunt clenching sinfully tight around you, drops of your cum leaking past your cock as his hole flutters around you. The position you have him in, legs over your shoulders and bent nearly in half, has your cock going to deep he swears you hit his diaphragm with every thrust, your heavy balls slapping against his ass.

He's happy he'd slipped you that aphrodisiac as you just continue to fuck him all night long, pumping his hole full of cum again and again until by the end of it he looks pregnant, both of you exhausted as hell and unable to do much other than fall asleep in a tangle of limbs.

You don't think nothing of it, just glad to be alive to be able to enjoy his love and affection. That is until you find him crying in the bathroom, and you hug him before you can think of anything else, just trying to comfort him and understand why he's sad, only for him to silently hand you a small white stick, burying his head into your neck to silence his sobs.

And you don't notice him smirking against your throat as you stare at the two lines on the pregnancy test.

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hey👋🏾 ! Can I request Shinjuro x Widowed Reader who lost her husband and child to a demon attack years ago and is now remarried to Shinjuro after after Ruka passed. And how Shinjuro deals with being in love with another partner while also being in love with his late wife still grieving her after all these years. Also I’d wonder how Kyojuro and Senjuro would take to having a new mom🤔.

Hey! Thank you so much for the prompt!

So, this story ran away with itself, but I think this had to be a longer piece because there are so many emotions at play here. I wrote this as if the events of Mugen Train never happened and Shinjuro never had that moment of clarity after Kyojuro's death. (Kyojuro will never die on my watch)

If you prefer, it's on AO3 here

Content warnings for: alcoholism, recovering from alcoholism, death of a spouse, death of a child, and Shinjuro just being awful at the beginning of the story. It is kind of a slow-burn but there is an explicit sex scene so minors DNI. 

A Rekindled Flame

Shinjuro Rengoku x F!Reader

Shinjuro curls his lip as you approach. "What do you want now?"

Your husband reeks of sake and stale sweat, his yukata falling open, exposing his broad chest and thick thighs to the neighbors as he sits on the porch. 

Enough is enough.

You hold your breath, "You know what I want. I've asked you every day since the day we got married; I want you to give up the drink and be a father to your sons. Kyojuro left for his mission brokenhearted."

"So?" 

"So… what if he doesn't come back?"

"Why should I care? He's a grown man. He can make his own damn mistakes."

"You're vile. You're shameful!" You were raising your voice to him now, which you never did. You would take shit from Shinjuro all day long, but when it came to the boys, you would defend them tooth and claw. Your fists coiled at your sides. "How dare you!"

Shinjuro's shock at hearing your raised voice buys you a second to snatch the sake bottle from the former flame hashira.

"Give that back!" He growls, trying to stand. He sways and stumbles back down. "I'm not finished."

You defiantly pour the alcohol onto the earth and hand him the empty bottle. "There. You're done."

He simply stares at you, too drunk to form a reaction. "You… my…"

You turn on your heel and walk back into the house, heading to your room. Throughout the year you've been married, you and Shinjuro have never once shared a bed. Not even on your wedding night. He'd barely even made it through the ceremony before he was passed out in a drunken stupor. If not for Kyojuro and Senjuro, you might have run away there and then. Your marriage is loveless by every definition.

"SENJURO!!" Your husband bellows through the house, looking for his youngest. You know exactly what for. He's too drunk to go and buy sake himself, so he'll send the lad to do it. You step out of your room and find Shinjuro staggering through the kitchen. "Where's the boy?"

"Not here." You weren't about to tell Shinjuro, but his youngest son was at the butterfly mansion, where he would stay until he was ready to come home. You've had enough. You have all had enough.

Shinjuro closes his eyes and his throat flexes. He's either holding back from yelling or vomiting or both. "When you see him, tell him I need more sake. Some hell bitch threw mine away." And then he stumbles off to his bedroom and slides the door shut. A few moments later you hear a thud, and then snoring. 

All things considered, it didn't go too badly. 

Before you finish your chores you head over to Ruka's shrine. It has been a decade since Shinjuro's first wife passed, and you know how much he's hurting. You've lived through it yourself. 

You had thought that having both lost your spouses, you would have been a compatible match and bonded over your shared loss, but Shinjuro had only ever reluctantly accepted you as his wife. You were more of a nanny and maid. 

"Ruka… I'm trying," you whisper as you kneel and light the incense. "I'll keep trying, for the boys and for him."

~

The next day, Shinjuro is in a foul mood as anticipated. He trudges from his room and instinctively heads to the porch before remembering the events of the previous day. 

"You owe me a bottle of sake," he grumbles, his voice deep and rough. 

"You owe me a year of my life. Let's just call it even." 

His thick black eyebrows furrow. "Where's Senjuro?"

"Gone."

"Gone where? There are chores to be done…"

You take a breath. "Senjuro left here yesterday morning. He's gone to stay with friends. Kyojuro and I thought it would be best." 

"What the hell is this? My whole good for nothing family turning against me?" He shakes his head, furious tears forming in his eyes. "Why did you take my son away?"

"I didn't send him, he wanted to go," you try to keep your voice firm but calm. Your heart is racing, and as much as you want to get the hell out too, you need to do this for Kyojuro and Senjuro. "Don't you see what you're doing to this family?"

Shinjuro scoffs. "You're the one breaking us apart. The boys are all I have!"

"Senjuro flinches when you walk into the room. Kyojuro works so hard every damn day to make you proud and all you ever do is drink and tell him he's worthless. I don't want to drive your family apart. I want to fix it. I need to fix it, because you have two wonderful sons who deserve the world. And all you're giving them is hell."

He stares at you. A tear runs down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. He knows you lost your own son, that you blame yourself for failing to protect him from the demon who killed both him and your husband. If Kyojuro had gotten there just a second later, you would have died too. 

He steps toward you, muttering the first syllable of your name before he shakes his head. For a moment you could swear he almost showed you empathy. "So… what you're telling me is that I need to quit drinking, and then I'll get my boys back."

You nod. "I know how much you're hurting Shinjuro. I know Ruka was your world and you love her so much the pain is unbearable. But the drink isn't numbing it, is it? You're still hurting, and all the drink does is spread that pain to others." You take a step toward him and lay your hand on his forearm, gazing up at him with desperation in your eyes. "Let me help you, because you truly have such wonderful, kind sons, and they deserve a father. And you don't deserve to drink yourself to an early grave."

His jaw tightens and he looks away. "There's nothing left of me for you to save."

"That's not true." Your racing heart is breaking as you look into your husband's eyes and see there's no light in them at all. "Shinjuro, we'll get you back."

"It's impossible–"

"We're Rengokus. We do not give up. Please Shinjuro… let me help you and then… then I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again. But do this for your sons."

His eyes snap toward you. "Why would you leave?" 

"Because I know you don't love me. You never have, and that's fine." A bitter chuckle leaves your lips. "I don't love you either. Let's just do this one thing. If all we ever do is get you through this, I'll consider our marriage a success."

He stares at you for a moment before his gaze drops to the floor. "Alright. I'll do it. For the boys."

~

The first weeks are hell. 

The withdrawal keeps Shinjuro up at night. He shakes and sweats, throwing his guts up and snapping at you constantly. His irritability is worse than ever and you start to doubt either of you has the strength to keep doing this. 

Every night you pray at Ruka's shrine. It's a comfort to feel like you're both trying to help. The photograph of her gazes back at you with endless patience and grace, and you try your best to draw strength from the hope that she's watching your efforts.

You wash the sweat and vomit from his clothes, you brew tea to help his nausea and let him swear and grumble at you all he wants. But he doesn't touch a drop of sake. 

One morning, three weeks after his last drink, Shinjuro emerges from his bedroom and walks to the table where you're eating breakfast alone.

"Good morning," he says, his voice as deep and growly as ever but lately it's a little gentler. 

"How was last night?"

"Better…" he pulls in a breath and walks to the pot of rice gruel on the table, ladling out a bowl for himself.

"You're eating breakfast?" You've never seen him eat breakfast in the whole year you've been married. 

He nods. "Yeah… I'm hungry."

For the first time, your husband sits beside you and eats. He doesn't smell of sweat and sake anymore, he just smells like… Shinjuro. 

"I'm going to cut firewood today," he tells you as he eats. "I noticed we're getting low, with the boys being gone."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shinjuro has never done chores. "Oh, thank you."

"Don't thank me. I live here too. It's only fair I do my share." He finishes his breakfast and sets his bowl down. His eyes are downcast. "I'm sorry." 

Silence hangs between the two of you. 

You aren't sure how to respond. There are no words to describe the tangled web of feelings you have for the man. There's so much resentment and anger. But you're proud of him too, so very very proud. And truth be told, though your marriage exists in name only, you're attached to him. 

His hand rests on your shoulder, so big and heavy and oh-so warm. "I've been a terrible husband and an even worse father."

"Yes."

He bows his head. "I know words mean less than actions, but I will atone for what I've done and become worthy of the name Rengoku once more." He pulls in a long breath and turns to face you. "My wife… will–" He shakes his head, composes himself, and says firmly, "Can I hold you?"

His request takes you by surprise. "But you hate me."

"No," he shakes his head. "No, I've never hated you. How could I? I've watched you keep this home running while I've sat idle and useless. I've watched you be a mother to the boys and put up with the hell I dragged you through with grace and strength." His gold and crimson eyes are fixed on you. "You are a remarkable woman, the strongest I have ever known. And I know I'm unworthy of claiming the title of your husband, I'm beyond honored to call you my wife."

You can only stare. This man is so different from the one you've been married to this past year. "Shinjuro…" his name emerges as a whisper before your lips curve and you smile at him for perhaps the first time ever. 

Words are unnecessary as you lean into your husband's embrace and his strong arms wrap around you as he buries his face against your shoulder. 

And God, it shouldn't feel this good to finally feel appreciated and loved by him, but it does. You hold each other as if your embrace could heal the deepest wounds, bringing your hand up to softly stroke the back of his head and his wild fiery hair.

"I'm so proud of you," you say at last. "I know nothing has been easy these past ten years."

"It hasn't been for you either, and I've made it so much worse." He pulls back from the embrace and looks into your eyes. "I'm going to be the husband you deserve, if you'll have me. But don't answer yet. Let me earn it." 

He stands and takes your bowls to wash them. When he's done he silently heads outside and it isn't long before you hear the rhythmic thump of an ax hitting wood. 

You go about your daily routine, keeping the Rengoku homestead together as best as you can. You clean, maintain, fix, and finally cook.

When dinner is ready you head outside to tell Shinjuro, but the sight which greets you knocks the air from your lungs. 

He's still hard at work, his torso completely bare and his yukata gathered about his hips. His body is so big and burly, softened by age yet still so strong even though years have passed since he quit his hashira training. He's sweating and his cheeks and chest are flushed a warm shade of pink. He's slightly breathless. The golden sunset highlights every curve and muscle of his body. 

You just… stand… transfixed. 

Your body knows what it wants immediately.

He finally notices you standing on the porch and wipes his brow on his forearm. "Everything okay?"

"Mhm… yeah…" you nod as heat creeps across your cheeks and pools in the pit of your belly. "Dinner's ready."

He nods. "Almost done." 

The heat in your belly seeps lower as you watch him swing the ax again. 

You have to turn away. It has been years since you felt anything close to desire, and the sudden onslaught to your senses is more than you can handle. Heading inside, you splash cold water on your cheeks and add the noodles to the pot, ready to serve.

"Mmm…"

Your heart flutters as you hear Shinjuro's low hum of approval as he steps into the house a few minutes later. "Smells like miso."

"Miso ramen."

"My favorite!"

"I know." You chance looking around and instantly regret it. 

His yukata is back in place but he must have quickly washed up outside as his hair is wet and scraped up into a ponytail. And though he's clearly made an effort to be presentable, the fact remains that his yukata is hardly big enough to fully cover his chest. You can't tear your eyes from the hypnotic sight of water droplets sliding down over his skin.

"Oh~" you clear your throat and turn back to the pot, fixing two bowls of ramen. "It's a shame Kyojuro isn't back yet. He loves this dish."

"Kyojuro loves every dish," Shinjuro chuckles as he sits at the table. "Feeding him costs a fortune. But your ramen is very good." A pained sigh escapes him. "I do miss the boy. I expect he and I will have a difficult conversation upon his return. Difficult but necessary. And as for Senjuro, I can only hope he wishes to come back home."

You set the bowls on the table and sit beside him. "He will. He wants his father. And I've written to him telling him how well you're doing, though it may take a while for the letter to reach him, since Kyojuro has the kasugai crow on his mission." 

Shinjuro pauses with his spoon mid air. "You did that for us?"

You nod.

He reaches out and puts his hand on yours. "I would marry you again, you know. I know you probably can't say the same and I don't blame you for that one bit. But I would marry you without hesitation." 

His hand completely covers yours; large, firm, and warm. You rotate your wrist and turn your palm upward to interlock your fingers with his. 

"It hasn't been easy, Shinjuro, but I would do this a thousand times over to meet the version of you I see today." His stubble rasps against your palm as you reach out and affectionately cup his chin with your other hand, lifting it ever so slightly so he sits a little prouder. "I knew there was a good man beneath all those snarls." 

He chuckles and smiles at you fondly. "Thank you. Ah, I should probably shave, shouldn't I?"

"It's up to you, I quite like the stubble."

"Oh you do?" He raises a thick, dark eyebrow. "Then I'll keep it."

Your cheeks heat. You're flirting with your husband! He laughs softly and continues eating his ramen. 

"It's good. Thank you. You're an excellent cook and an even better wife."

When evening comes and it's time for you to go to bed, you stand together in the center of your house between the two doors.

"Goodnight, sweet wife," he says, squeezing your hand affectionately.

"Goodnight, husband who is trying very hard."

He laughs before he turns and heads to his room. 

~

From that point on, each day gets a little easier. You sit and eat meals with your husband and both spend the day working around your home. You become a team, a family. And every day he recovers more of himself. Every day he becomes the man his family deserves. 

When he's a month sober, you prepare a special dinner; a little banquet just for the two of you.

"Oh my!" His smile beams as he sees all your hard work. "My darling wife, you really are wonderful."

"Thank you." Your heart leaps as he leans in and gently kisses your cheek. 

"No, no, thank you." He chuckles and sits down to eat. He'll never admit it, but since he sobered up it's very apparent that Shinjuro absolutely shares the same voracious appetite as Kyojuro. "Mm… tasty."

You sit together, shoulder to shoulder as you eat, discussing the day and what still needs to be done around the house tomorrow. When he's finished eating you hand him a letter. "It's from Senjuro." 

His smile falters and he suddenly looks timid. His fingers are shaking as he opens the letter. You already know the contents, you know it's nothing but sweetness– of course it is, it's Senjuro– but you know how terrifying this must be for Shinjuro. 

You put your arm around his back as he reads and a few moments later you feel him start to shake as he grits his teeth and a sob bursts out of him.

"Senju–" he cries, bringing the letter to his lips and closing his eyes. "Oh my sweet boys. I miss them."

You pull him into an embrace,  wrapping your arms around him; one around his back, the other cradling his head to your chest as you press your lips to his hair. "It's okay. You're doing so well, Shinjuro. They'll be back soon and they'll be proud to call you their father."

He nods and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you as his tears subside and he composes himself. "You're right. They'll be back and they'll have a father they can be proud of." He keeps holding you, keeps resting his head against you. "Thank you. I can never thank you enough for what you've done for our family." 

"I would do it every day, a hundred times over." You kiss the top of his head, letting your lips linger in his hair. The scent of him is so comforting now, so you draw a deep breath.

He raises his head to look at you, smiling softly, and leaning in to  place a gentle, loving kiss on your cheek. 

His lips are soft in contrast to his stubble which rasps over your skin and stirs a cloud of butterflies in your belly. 

Your heart races as you close the space between you once more and kiss his cheek in return. Your kiss lands a little lower, a little closer to his lips.

He mirrors your gesture, exchanging another chaste kiss at the corner of your mouth. And another. And another.

The air between you grows thick and hot as those chaste kisses become loaded with a deeper need. And with every kiss your heart beats a little faster.

Your faces are just inches apart, his shallow breaths fluttering against your lips as the lids grow heavy over golden hued eyes. His gaze drifts to your lips. "Is it…okay if–?"

"Yes." 

He chuckles, brushing his fingertips against your jaw and gently clasping your chin to bring your lips to his. His kiss is soft and tender, his lips slowly and tentatively caressing yours, as if he's rediscovering a path he once knew so well. 

But once he finds the rhythm his kiss grows more intense, and a deep, desperate moan rolls through his chest and echoes in you. The moment his tongue slips against yours you're both gone; lost to the heat and the pleasant tingles shooting through your bodies.

He pulls back for a moment, checking in on you, but you quickly close the gap once more, kissing him with all the passion and adoration you've craved for so long.

Your fingers graze over his stubble as you cup his face between your hands.

"Oh, my wife," he whispers against your lips as he switches from deep, hungry kisses to feathery, gentle ones. "My sweet wife."

He presses his forehead to yours as he traces your lips with his fingertip, making you shiver. 

"I should have told you every day; you're so beautiful," his voice is low and quiet and just for you. "I want to spend the rest of my life cherishing you as you deserve." He places a soft kiss at the corner of your lips. "I never thought I'd feel this way again."

You can hardly breathe; his tenderness is lovely and overwhelming. "I know I'll never replace Ruka. I don't intend to, and I would never expect you to stop loving her."

"You're right, I'll always love her, but I love you too, and there's room for both of you in my heart." He tucks your hair back behind your ear and kisses your temple. "I would never expect you to stop loving your late first husband either. The ones we lose, they're a part of us, and they would want us to be happy." He caresses your cheek and it isn't until he wipes away your tears that you realize you've begun to cry. "Before she died, Ruka begged two things of me: to take care of our boys and to find love again. And you've made both her final wishes possible. Ruka was my first love, but you are my last."

Your heart squeezes at his words. You caress his stubbled cheek before leaning in and letting your kiss tell him everything you can't find the words to express. His lips are addictive, and every kiss fans heat through your body. When you pull away you gently suck his lower lip, pulling a deep, needy groan from him.

"Oh~" his eyes flutter closed. One of his hands is at the back of your neck, the other drifts down to your waist. "You're making me weak, wife."

You can't help but smile as you lean in again and kiss him even deeper. That you can reduce this big, strong former hashira to whimpers with just a kiss is more thrilling than you ever imagined.

His cheeks are a deep shade of pink as he gazes down at you. "We have a lot of time to make up. I want to take care of you. Tell me how to do that."

"Well, we never got a wedding night," you say as your heart pounds.

"You're right." He kisses you again, runs his fingers through your hair. It seems he can't get enough of the sensation of you. "Would you like me to make up for that tonight?"

Your throat is dry, your breath stilted as you nod. "Yes. Shinjuro, right now I want nothing more."

You can see in his eyes how much this means to him. And you feel it too. It's not just the physical pleasure, but the intimacy, the outlet, the emotional release. He carries you to his bedroom and sets you down on the bed, his lips curving into a genuine and grateful smile as he kneels between your knees and leans forward, pressing his body against yours and kissing you. 

It's been so long since you felt anything like this, and your body drinks it in. Before long you're kissing like teenagers, both flushed, your bodies heating. You wrap your legs around him, grinding your hips against his, seeking friction as his tongue strokes yours. 

He chuckles softly. "Easy, little spitfire. I said I'd take care of you and I want to do it thoroughly." His fingers make short work of your clothing, laying you bare as his breath catches in his throat. "Beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with reverence as he gazes down at you.

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, latching onto your nipples with a wanton moan. 

There's so much time to make up for, and he loves you. He desperately does. Never once during that year of lonely hell did you ever suspect that Shinjuro was a man who loves to fuck, but as he kisses his way down your belly and over your hips, he can't hide the curve of his lips or the gleam in his eyes. 

His stubble rasps against your inner thighs as he teases you with hot, hungry kisses, inching closer and closer to where you so desperately need him.

"Just relax," he tells you in that soft, growly voice as he lies between your legs, his lips just inches from your pussy. "Let your husband take care of you."

And God, he does just that. Shinjuro eats your pussy like it's his first meal in forever, licking, sucking, groaning as he devours you. He's experienced; he knows exactly what he's doing, and he's enthusiastic about it, wanting nothing more than your pleasure and your fingers tangled in his fiery hair.

He listens to your moans, he pays attention, figuring out what works for you. Hooking a large, warm hand behind your knee, he lifts your leg and puts it over his broad shoulder and seals his lips around your clit, softly sucking as his tongue flutters. He's spurred on by your cries, your gasps, the way your legs tremble.

"Shinjuro…I'm close." 

It's music to his ears. He doesn't stop, he keeps the same pressure, the same pace, letting your pleasure build and build until you fall apart, bucking against his skillful mouth as he laps up every drop of your essence. When your trembling subsides he gently and affectionately nuzzles your clit with the tip of his nose. 

"God." You lie there panting as he kisses your inner thighs once more. 

"Do you want more?" He asks, lifting your leg and trailing kisses down your calf.

"I never want it to end."

He laughs quietly, shifting his body so he can lie on top of you. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips as you run your fingers over his back. His muscles flex and relax beneath your touch.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" He whispers in your ear. 

"Yes." There's so much desperation in your voice. 

A low, approving moan emerges from him before he rocks up onto his knees and stands to undress. His body is just as strong and burly as you remember and just the sight of him makes your breath catch. His cock is hard and standing straight out, curved slightly upward toward the tip, and thickly veined.

His eyes are soft as he looks down at you, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest tells you he's anything but calm.

Raising up, you sit on the bed and put your hands on his hips, pulling him toward you. He smiles and obeys your silent command, stepping closer to you to lay back down on top of you.

"I can't tell you how good it feels to know you want me," he whispers close to your ear. "My God, I have such a beautiful wife."

He trails kisses down your neck, pressing his lips to your throat as you run your fingers through his hair.

"You feel so good, Shinjuro."

"I want to make sure you're good and ready for me first." He reaches down between your legs, his fingers gliding over your overstimulated clit and down to your entrance. He gently pushes his finger inside, gasping at the wet warmth of your pussy squeezing him. "Ohh~ my girl, you're so wet already."

You're out of your mind with desire and pleasure as he finds the exact spot to curl his fingers against. "Shin… oh…"

"Hm? Is that good?" He adds another finger, circling your clit with his thumb and watching your every reaction. 

He fucks you with his fingers deep and slow, stretching you out in preparation, enamored with your whimpers and the way you moan his name.

Lowering his head, he takes your nipple into his mouth and laps at it with his tongue. "Are you going to cum for me again, my love?"

"Y-yes."

"Good girl, I know you've got at least one more for me." 

You're damn near feral as he keeps coaxing out your pleasure, that big, warm body of his pressing you down against the mattress. Your inner muscles flutter and clench around his fingers. 

"That's it, my love. There it is. Let's get this pretty pussy all wet and ready for me." 

Your orgasm tears through you and you cry out in pure bliss as he keeps on praising you in his deep, rough voice. 

"That's my girl. Oh you look so beautiful; so ready for me. You want it now, huh?" 

All you can do is nod. He chuckles and pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth before he sucks them clean. "Mm~ I'm never going to get enough of your taste."

"Shinjuro," you moan as your hips involuntarily buck toward him. Your need surpasses all other sensation. You need to be fucked and you need it now. 

Shinjuro's lips curve into a grin. He strokes his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick essence before he presses his tip to your entrance. 

"God, you're so big," you gasp as he pushes into you. Even with all his preparation there's still a little resistance. 

"Nice and easy, little spitfire," he grunts, his brow knitting together as he slides slowly deeper. "Ohh, you feel so damn good."

He buries his cock to the hilt inside you,  leaning forward so his chest is pressed to yours and he can rest his weight on his forearms as he caresses your face and strokes your hair sweetly while grinding his hips against yours.

"Look at you, my pretty wife, taking my cock so well."

As your passion grows, his vocabulary dwindles to nothing more than grunts and gasps. He rolls his hips, aiming to hit every pleasurable spot with each slow thrust. He's patient, savoring the sensation of you as he kisses every inch of your face.

His restraint starts to fray as you rock your hips beneath him, hinting that you want more. 

Those golden eyes of his flutter shut, and his lips part around a silent gasp. "If you keep that up I'm not going to last, my love."

You kiss him, deeply, your tongue dancing slowly with his as you keep on rocking your hips. As much as you want this to last forever, you want him to feel good too. Watching him start to lose his composure is a beautiful feeling.

He groans against your mouth. "Do you want to get on top?"

"Yes." 

He rolls you over and lies back, letting you align yourself properly to ride him. Putting one arm behind his head, he reaches out with the other and touches the base of his cock, sliding up until he touches your pussy, tracing the seam where your bodies meet, with a deep, approving moan. "So perfect." 

You place your hands on his belly for balance and start to roll your hips, taking him slow and steady, rocking forward so your breasts are just a few inches from his face. 

"Ohh~" He's in bits as you ride him, his cheeks flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Ever-desperate to please you, he strokes your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way you move like he's bound by your spell.

As your pleasure grows you start to move faster, taking him harder and deeper until you're riding him with desperate abandon. 

Your backs arch in sync as the pleasure becomes too much to bear, as waves of pleasure wash over you and you fall apart, he cries out, gasping, thrusting his hips up into you as he finishes. 

And then you collapse, fucked-out and blissful in the arms of your husband. Finally, finally after all this time.

You both lie there gasping for air, exchanging soft laughter and gentle kisses.

"I love you, wife." He pulls you to him, wrapping his strong arms around you as if he intends to protect you from the world. 

And finally you speak the words you've longed to feel since the day you married him. "I love you too."

You mean it. You truly do.

For the first time in your marriage you and Shinjuro fall asleep holding each other. And that's how you sleep every night thereafter. 

~ 

~A year later~

"YOU'RE HOME!" Senjuro is only fifteen and probably only half Kyojuro's weight, but he barrels into his older brother with enough force to knock the man flying onto his ass. The boys' loud, contagious laughter rings through the house. 

"Careful! Careful!" Shinjuro chuckles, ruffling his youngest son's hair before helping the eldest up from the ground.

"Thank you father," Kyojuro beams as he dusts off his hashira uniform and places his hand flat on Senjuro's head, measuring his height against himself and widening his eyes when he finds Senjuro is at nose-height. "Goodness! When did you get so tall?! You must stop growing. I'll be the shortest in no time."

"Then I'll call you 'little brother' instead." Senjuro grins.

A laugh shakes Shinjuro's chest as he places his hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "You may be the shortest soon but I'm still proud of you. I'm proud of you both. I have fine boys." He smiles affectionately. "How was the mission?" 

"Successful." Kyojuro lifts his chin proudly. "We prevailed, and the demon's would-be victims are safe. He won't hurt anyone again."

A moment later, Kyojuro is damn near swept off his feet a second time as his father pulls him into a tight embrace.

You can't help but smile from the doorway before heading into the kitchen. It's late spring, the air is fresh and pleasant, and everybody's home. It's as good an excuse to prepare a feast as any. 

Getting to this point took some work. There were many tears and long conversations. But in the end the family has come together and emerged from the darkness stronger. The Rengoku house is once again filled with love and laughter.

Kyojuro walks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you. He knows what you endured throughout his father's recovery, and he'll never stop showing you how grateful he is. 

"I'm so glad you're home," you say softly as you hug your stepson back. 

He pulls back and his smile is beaming. Both Kyo and Senju have their father's hair and eyes, but Kyojuro is the spitting image of Ruka; his presence just as calming and comforting as the picture on her shrine. 

"How is he?" he asks. 

"Your father?"

"No, no I can see he's well. I mean…" his eyes dart downward to your stomach. 

You laugh, "Oh, you're so certain you have a new little brother?" 

"I'm positive, there hasn't been a girl in our family as far back as records go. Could you imagine a little girl with these eyebrows??" He laughs loudly. 

There's nothing wrong with our eyebrows," Shinjuro interjects as he enters the kitchen too. "Now, if you don't mind, your stepmother and I have a feast to prepare. You and Senjuro have a lot of catching up to do, I'm sure."

Your husband rolls his sleeves over his muscular forearms and gives you a wry smile as the boys head off, chattering between themselves. 

"We all love you, you know?" he says quietly as he begins chopping vegetables. "You brought this family back from the brink, and I can never thank you enough." 

"You thank me plenty."

"It's still not enough." 

He sets down the knife and stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning around to place a dozen little kisses on your cheek. 

You laugh– as you do so often these days– and kiss your husband, proud to be his and proud to love him so openly. Because Shinjuro Rengoku is a man to be proud of. 

The end

[hanafubukki]

Been thinking of alpha!Lilia and Omega!Reader for awhile 🤔

Lilia who doesn’t give off the aura of an alpha, some mistake him for a beta or even an omega. You, the obvious omega, is protected by the seven dorm heads.

Of course, there’s the few fools who try to come after you regardless. Those times are when Lilia’s demeanor changes. Looking at those who dare to touch you with a menacing look. They tremble in fear. Whimpers clawing through their throats. Ready to kneel.

You calm Lilia with your aura, the light returning to his eyes and a grin appeasing. You both continue on your way, but not without Lilia sending one last look behind.

Ready to tear throats if they tried anything.

[amethystfairy1]

Why does Tango wear a crop top? 🤔

Let's find out...

10 Years Ago 

Under-City Labs

“Little spark!” 

“What!? What!?” Tango about toppled from the step-ladder he was sitting on, in order to reach up and tinker with the guts of a massive sorting machine he’d designed for identifying resources from deliveries and then transporting them to the lower levels. 

He spun where he sat to swing his boots over the edge of the step-ladder and peered down. 

Doc was standing there with a supremely disappointed expression on his face. Tango immediately filed back through all of his doing within the past month trying to figure out what he’d messed up this time. 

The creeper mutant tapped one loafer a few times. 

Tango matched ruby red eyes with him, trying to keep any nervousness off his face.

“Y-Yeah? What can I do for ya, Director?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Doc. What can do for ya, Doc?”  

Doc’s natural eye narrowed.

“What are you wearing?”

Tango glanced down at his outfit. Currently he was wearing a redstone streaked old tee shirt he’d long since torn the sleeves off of. It was oversized, to be honest he might’ve stolen it off of Jimmy in high school, he didn’t really remember. His claws were on full display, caked with grime considering he put them use helping him work with the finer wiring.

Instead of using. Y’know. Pliers or something. 

“W-Work clothes? Why?”

“Those are not work clothes. Work clothes are gloves and long sleeves, Tango.” Doc replied with the tone of a mother hen, and the little blaze-born whined in the back of his throat.

“But it’s sooooo hot in here! I’m already on fire!” 

“So you are. That does not mean you cannot get burnt or cut working with these machines.”

“I’m careful…” Tango began but Doc raised his eyebrow at him with a firmly set jaw and folded his arms, augmentation over green skin. 

“…ish.” 

“Gloves and long sleeves.”

“But Doc! I also use these for working with wiring, it’s easier than pliers!” 

Tango made grabby hands down from the step ladder at Doc, clicking the sharpened tips of his claws together.

Doc’s augmented eye adjusted, red glow flickering. He tilted his head and heaved a ragged sigh, raking back longish dark brown hair with his metal hand and planting his other hand on his hip. 

“I can see that, and for small projects that is fine, but not when you’re working in mechanical here.” 

“But it’s so hot.”

“Then take breaks!” 

“I don’t wanna take breaks!”

“Tango!” Doc’s tone dropped one octave from his already deep voice, and Tango flinched. His flares momentarily went out completely before sputtering to life again. He’d been practically raised by this man, and now that he’d started at the labs earlier this year he’d been trying to learn the balancing act of their workplace dynamic.

Which, as it turned out, wasn’t all that different from their dynamic anywhere else. Doc was allergic to authority and despised formality, for the labs was more like a big conglomeration of the under-city’s best and brightest just kind of…figuring things out. There was a loose hierarchical structure, but that was more just so the assignment of workflow would be more comprehensible and less completely and utter chaos. 

So Tango huffed and spun back toward the machine he was tinkering with, shoving his hands up into the wiring, tongue poking out and worrying between his sharp teeth as he shouted back in reply.

“Fine, fine, fine, I hear ya! Gloves and long sleeves from tomorrow on out, you got it!”

The Next Day.

“Tango!”  

Tango fumbled the comparator he was holding and dropped it to the ground with a clatter he jumped so hard when that booming voice shouted over his workshop area within the mechanical branch of the labs. 

“Why have you gotta scare me like that!?” The blaze-born demanded as he turned to see Doc picking his way around the chaos of Tango’s workshop area. It wasn’t exactly organized, but it was organized enough for him, and sure, the last time Pearl had visited him during work hours she’d about had a conniption, but whatever. This was how he worked best. 

“What is that!?” Doc gestured at Tango pointedly. 

“What? You said gloves and long sleeves, so I’m wearing gloves and long sleeves!” Tango was barely able to hold back the mischievous grin that tried to clamber upon his face.

Doc looked him up and down twice.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Gloves and long sleeves. See?” Tango set the comparator he’d been carrying aside and then threw his arms out and made jazz hands. His flares crackles and his blaze-rods danced and twirled to mirror his amusement at Doc’s rather stunned expression.

Tango had traded the old cut-off tee for a tight, bright red cropped long sleeve that cut just beneath his pecs, leaving the entirety of his toned stomach exposed down to his belt, which held several tools as well as a carabiner clip for his gloves. His brown work gloves were new, Doc had gotten them for him as apart of his toolkit for starting work in the mechanical sector of the labs full-time after having helped out more and more since his mid-teens. They still felt a bit stiff, but Tango supposed they’d break in the more he wore them.

Doc planted his head into his hands and groaned. 

“Little spark, you’re going to drive me insane, aren’t you?”

“Pleased to be working with you too!” 

Tango saluted, then spun on his heel to return to his work, his tail coiling and twisting cheerfully behind him, and Doc rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight him anymore on it. 

...

And there you have it! That's why Tango wears a crop top! Because he's a little shit who subscribes to the idea of malicious compliance!

This was a bit short for my taste to post on A03 with the entire series proper, but I felt like just writing it anyway, and I figured would be fun to have them over here! I'll be tagging little stuff like this as 'ttsbc ficlets' and if you have any other small seeming innocuous questions about TTSBC or Traveling Thieves that you think would be fun to see answered in this format, please do send me an ask! I think it'll be fun and as some of y'all who have followed me for awhile may know, I struggle with writing short, so this seems like it'll be good practice!

Hope you liked it! 💖

[tired-biscuit]

I need some more werewolf Kiba in my life! 🤤 I wonder, would he end up dealing with a heat of some sort or would he try to resist his urges? In this AU would Akamaru still exist?? 🤔

18+ fem!reader // cw: monsterfucking, breeding, knotting, scenting.

you best believe that if this man ends up slipping into heat while you're near, he's definitely not resisting the urge to break you in half whilst trying to breed you.

as a matter of fact, he can't resist it.

i think he's just way too rash and reckless by nature to keep himself in-check, you know? he acts before he thinks and you just smell so sweet, you lure him right in, make him stalk you around the house. so before you know it, he's got you caged in on the bed with the help of his immense weight, with your cheek pressing into the pillow and your ass pushing high in the air.

he's grunting, nearly whining breathlessly as he holds your wrists pinned to your lower back and drags the tip of his nose down the outline of your slit that you hide from him with the help of your panties. literally nosing around, he bumps against your clit and pushes against the little button of nerves with utmost eagerness. the little submissive sound that is your gasp only spurs him on further.

your body tenses as he inhales deeply, then; so deeply that it makes you squirm from the insecurity to hit you. by now, you've grown accustomed to the slightly odd thing he has for smelling you all the time, stealing little whiffs whenever he hugs you or kisses your neck, but this time it's different. the sound is so obvious, and thus awfully lewd, so much so that you're nearly sinking your teeth into the pillow from how flustered it makes you as your thighs rub together.

you know that his sense of smell is even more sensitive during this time - he's sheepishly told you about it at some point in your relationship, when you'd finally convinced him to talk more about this side of him and everything that comes along with it. still, despite the knowledge, you can't stop the blush that now rapidly sears your face when he mutters something along the lines of how he could distinguish the scent of your 'pretty little cunt' from miles away; can't stop yourself from swallowing audibly when he grits out how it drives him 'fuckin' batshit crazy'.

so you suppose it's not even that weird for him to have drool nearly dripping down his large canine teeth when he's got the thing that invokes all of that frustration within him right there; right in front of his goddamn nose. it's evident how badly he yearns for you, it makes your heart wish to dance in your chest. your arousal smells like warm honey and he wants - needs - to bury his face right between your legs and lap at that sweet, warm place until it's sticky and wet enough to take his cock.

and speaking of it, he knows he's gotten big; much bigger than normal, not to mention the knot and the way it's achingly throbbing, but you'll make it work, right...? you always do. you're his little human mate and you have to make it work, because he needs release, the rut demands it. his skin feels like it's pulling much too taut to bear, and his bones feel heavier, his teeth feel sharper, his claws are out and he can't for the life of him stop the heavy breathing and the deep growling that's constantly rumbling in his chest and scratching the back of his throat.

he tries to play nice, he really does, but he's irritated and impatient; the heat cooks his brain and turns it into mush. he attempts to tug your panties to the side, but instead he tears them right off with the help of two claws. tries to lap at you slowly, laggardly, but ends up spitting onto your pussy and shoving his tongue inside instead just so you'll get wetter faster. he paws at you instead of caressing you like he normally does. nips at your skin instead of kissing it.

his instincts kick in and suddenly he's had enough. he snarls as the bed protests with loud creaks when he mounts you. you freeze at the deep, threatening sound; at the way his warm breath fans the back of your neck. he's so close, predator on top of prey; panting right into your ear, eyeing the cold sweat that gleams on your skin.

it feels like he's going to swallow you whole. you swear you can feel saliva drip onto your shoulder.

"you're a good lil' mate, aren't you?" he murmurs at some point and lets go of your wrists so that he can wrap his arm around your middle from underneath. your eyes flutter shut as you feel his claws dig into your soft flesh and drum against it. the sensation is shiver-inducing but you will your body to turn pliant instead of stiff. you let him do what he wants because you trust him, he's your boyfriend above all else.

"mh-... mhmm," is all you manage in return. it always makes your toes curl when he calls you his mate. nobody has ever called you that before, at least not as effortlessly as he does. you don't doubt that he can smell the spike that appears in your hormone levels at the word, even you can feel the gush of warmth that rushes down, down, down.

"'course you are... my. lovely. little. mate," he grits out the last word after he's finished pushing another inch into your warmth. you tremble, feeling your legs attempt to squeeze shut as a bead of the mixture of his spit and your slick slides down your thigh.

you've turned so wet that it's low-key pathetic. especially because his voice is coarse enough now that it sets your insides outright on fire as he whispers, "so... you're gonna keep bein' lovely for me by taking my knot, right?" he pauses and pushes yet another inch in, nearly making you cream on the spot. the way your hole flutters and clamps down on him like a vice makes him chuckle. "you'll- hah, mm... you'll do this for your mate, won't you? let him breed you? he needs to do it so bad, bunny... you don't understand how badly he needs to do it."

he's trying so fucking hard to be considerate with the way he treats you, going on and on and asking you for permission even if he's already painfully deep inside you and loud squelching fills the room. still, the moment you nod your head yes, the headboard of the bed ends up slamming against the wall nonetheless, because the beast within him roars to just take care of his needs already, otherwise the heat will burn him until he's nothing but ash. it will kill him. it'll make you lose your mate, he's sure of it.

and somewhere deep inside, where he's more human instead of monster, he feels bad for submitting to the urge; so, so bad for being this rough with you and stretching you out way past your humanly limits. for being this selfish. this greedy. he even makes you cry when he sinks in to the hilt, poor, poor you.

but he'll only care about it after he's finished fucking his pups into you. when you're stuck together and he's whining about how he hopes they'll stick as he keeps you stuffed full with his knot. when he's done his job and has satisfied the rut.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Howdy! @wings-and-beskar here, calling in with a little kiss prompt request!

The “desperate kiss as if they are convinced they’ll slip through each other’s fingers” immediately made me think of Hunter, but so did “a kiss where they’re both covered in blood” and now I can’t decide….

One has great angst potential, but the other one is could be great for Spooky season 🤔

I’ll let you decide because I can’t 😅 but as always, absolutely no pressure to do this!

Thank yoooou 💜

hiiii friend, I absolutely loved both of these prompts so I included them both! there's just something about Hunter that lends to incredibly angsty yet incredibly passionate encounters. thanks for this ask! <3

Endure and Survive

Summary: You're forced into the worst situation, and Hunter finds you in the aftermath.

Warnings: gn!reader; lots of blood, semi-graphic violence, (justified) murder/killing in self-defense, more blood, kissing while covered in blood, desperation. did i mention the blood? this little blurb low-key inspired by Joel finding Ellie after she killed David.

Word Count: 510

You’re trembling. Adrenaline pulses through you, vibrating in every cell. Yet you can’t make yourself stop—the wet crunch of bone and brain does little to slake the deep, primal need to survive. The heft of the blunt weapon in your slick hands continues to swing down, over and over and over. 

Someone is screaming. You realize belatedly that it’s you, your throat catching, voice cracking. 

He was going to kill you. Or worse. Your only option was to kill him first.

Tears stream down your face, mixing with the splattering of blood with each blow of the weapon. Your chest is tight with sobs, desperation clawing you from the inside out. Or maybe that’s just the smoke choking your breath.

Dimly, you’re aware of someone calling your name. The club comes down again, again, again, until—

A warm pair of hands gently covers your own. You jerk in surprise, spinning, ready to attack the new threat. Instead, you come face-to-face with familiar gray eyes. 

Hunter’s face is streaked with blood, too. It drips from his chin—it slicks his fingers where he works to pry the club from your aching hands. His eyes are wide and glassy, but his lips move as he murmurs your name. 

“Sweetheart,” he rumbles. His voice is smoky like the fire around you, warming you, burning you. “I’m here. You’re safe. Give me the club, baby.” 

“B-Bu-But—” You can’t string together thoughts, let alone words. He was going to kill me. I killed him. I killed him. 

“I know,” Hunter says, and later, you’ll realize he does know exactly the fear coursing through you. Your hands are suddenly empty and weightless. The club thunks where he tosses it, leaving a red trail behind it. 

And then his arms are around you. He’s solid. Warm. Strong. Safe. You wrap shaking arms around his neck and bury your face in his neck. Sobs wrack your body. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

“He- He—” 

“Shhh.” Hunter gently pulls back, cradling your face in his hands. Blood meets blood. “It’s over. You’re safe now.” 

You don’t know what comes over you. All you know is Hunter is safe, and his embrace is where you feel safest. Surging forward, you press your lips to his. Fear continues to pump through you—a new fear. Of losing him. Losing yourself. 

Groaning against you, Hunter tilts your head for better access, his tongue desperately licking into your mouth as if to memorize every inch, every curve, ridge, and slope. You taste salt and copper, tears and blood, and whine. You can’t get him close enough—the hard plastoid armor protecting his body keeps you out, even as you scrabble and claw at the edges to tug him impossibly close. 

Judging by how hard he grips your hip, the back of your neck, your entire soul, he’s just as afraid of the alternate outcome of this mission gone terribly awry.

When you pull away, panting for breath, his mouth is smeared red. You don’t stop shaking for a long, long time, bright crimson splattered across your vision.

Pasta: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Heya chère! I was wondering if you write Remy Lebeau and Original X-Men male character? 🤔

If so I have this idea for Remy and my original X-Men character Ajax who is having a panic attack after a mission that reminded him of his traumatic past and Remy notices and comforts him! ��💜💜💜

[ Ajax is 24 btw. So don't worry about a little smut hehe 😌☺️]

( ignore it if you don't write stuff like this)

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS SO I HOPE THIS IS OKAY MY DARLING!

Ajax sat on the bench outside the X-Mansion, hands gripping the edges, his knuckles stark white. His chest rose and fell like a panicked machine, too fast, too shallow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pull in enough air. The burn of a panic attack clawed at his throat, and the sounds of the mission played over and over in his mind—buildings crumbling, screams in the distance, the weight of helplessness crushing him like a vice.

The mission had been a success, technically. They’d stopped the threat. But it didn’t feel like a victory. Not to Ajax. The fight had been too close to… that night.

He clenched his eyes shut, trying to push the memories back down, when he felt a shadow fall over him.

“Cher, you look like you been fightin’ somethin’ a lot worse than Sentinels out here.”

Ajax blinked and looked up, his vision swimming for a second before it cleared. There was Remy LeBeau, leaning against a nearby post, flipping a card between his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world. His red-on-black eyes glinted in the dim light, but his usual smirk wasn’t as sharp—it was softer, more knowing.

Ajax swallowed, but the lump in his throat stayed put. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged breath. His hands were still shaking, and his heart thundered in his chest.

Remy’s smirk faded a little more as he took in the sight. “Ain’t gotta say nothin’, homme. I seen dat look before. Y’ain’t alone in it.”

Still, Ajax couldn’t respond, the panic squeezing tighter, pulling him under. The mission had been too much—too many triggers, too many moments that snapped him right back to his past. The night his family had been taken in the chaos. The night he couldn’t save them.

“I—I can’t breathe,” Ajax finally managed, his voice shaky and raw. His fingers dug into his knees like he was trying to physically hold himself together. “It’s just—it’s all comin’ back.”

Remy’s eyes softened. He crouched down in front of Ajax, bringing himself to eye level. “Alrigh’, mon frère. You ain’t gotta talk about it now, but I need you to do somethin’ for ol’ Remy, yeah?” His tone was gentle, almost coaxing, but still steady as a rock. “Breathe wit’ me. Jus’ follow my lead.”

Ajax’s breath was ragged, shallow, and too fast. Remy breathed in slowly through his nose, exaggeratedly, showing Ajax the rhythm. “In, nice an’ slow, homme. In through de nose, out through de mouth. Ain’t no rush. We takin’ our sweet time, d’accord?”

Ajax tried to follow, but his chest was tight, like a coil wound too tight, ready to snap. He forced himself to mimic Remy’s breathing, though it felt like he was dragging air through a narrow straw. His body trembled, his vision still swam, but slowly—so slowly—the pressure in his chest eased just a little.

Remy didn’t move, didn’t push. He just stayed there, breathing with him, his voice low and soothing. “Y’know, dis ain’t somethin’ new, cher. Life got a funny lil’ way of sneakin’ up on us when we least expect it. T’ings we thought we buried deep? Dey come back, like ghosts lookin’ for company.”

Ajax’s shoulders loosened a fraction as he focused on the Cajun’s voice. Remy had been through his own hells—everyone on the team had their scars—but somehow, the man carried it all with a kind of swagger that Ajax had always envied. Now, though, there was no swagger, no mask. Just a man who understood.

“It reminded me of…” Ajax’s voice cracked. He tried again. “Of when I lost them.”

Remy’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes were filled with understanding. “Ain’t no shame in dat, mon ami. Pain like dat? It leaves a mark, deep. But dat don’t mean it owns ya, y’hear?”

Ajax’s breath was still shaky, but it was slowing, finding a rhythm. “I thought… I thought I was over it. It’s been years, Remy. Why does it still hit me like this?”

Remy gave a small shrug, his lips tugging into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ain’t no timeline on hurt, cher. Sometimes, it’s like a shadow. You don’t always see it, but it’s always dere, hangin’ ‘round. But shadows only show up when dere’s light, yeah? And you, mon frère, you still got plenty o’ light in ya. Don’t let dat shadow convince you otherwise.”

Ajax looked down at his hands, still trembling, though not as violently now. “I feel weak,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”

Remy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Weak? Non, cher. You kiddin’ me? Ain’t nothin’ weak ‘bout survivin’. You been through hell, and here you are, still standin’. Dat ain’t weak. Dat’s strength. Stronger dan most, if y’ask me.”

Ajax’s grip on the bench loosened as the panic slowly ebbed away. His breathing was steadier now, and the world didn’t feel like it was spinning out of control anymore. His heart still beat faster than normal, but it wasn’t pounding in his ears the way it had been moments ago. He wasn’t okay—not yet—but there was a strange, quiet peace in the fact that he wasn’t alone.

He glanced at Remy, still crouched in front of him, the Cajun’s red-on-black eyes watching him carefully. For a guy who usually wore his cocky smile like armor, Remy had been surprisingly gentle—patient, even. Maybe that was what Ajax needed more than anything in that moment. Someone who wasn’t rushing him, someone who understood that some wounds didn’t heal on a schedule.

“Thanks, Remy,” Ajax finally said, his voice steadier now, though still a little rough, like gravel underfoot. He felt awkward in his gratitude, not quite sure how to express it.

Remy’s lips curled into that trademark lopsided grin, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Anytime, mon ami. But don’t go tellin’ nobody I’m soft, aight? Gotta keep my reputation nice an’ shiny.” He winked, but there was something softer beneath the tease.

Ajax managed a small smile, shaking his head. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said, his tone lighter now, though he couldn’t help but notice how close Remy still was. The Cajun was always making people feel like they were the only ones in the room, and right now, Ajax wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a dangerous one.

“Good,” Remy murmured, standing up and stretching with a lazy grace. He flipped the card one last time before tucking it back into his coat. “Now, how ‘bout we get inside ‘fore Rogue comes lookin’ for us? Girl’s gonna drag us into de Danger Room, and I don’t feel like gettin’ hit wit’ her fists tonight.”

Ajax chuckled, the sound hoarse but real. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like fun. Pretty sure I’ve had enough bruises for one day.”

Remy gave a mock shudder. “Ain’t dat de truth. Rogue don’t know her own strength sometimes. Besides, I’d rather spend my evening wit’ better company, if y’know what I mean.”

Ajax glanced over at Remy, catching the quick flicker of something in his gaze. He wasn’t sure if it was just Remy being Remy—always flirting, always teasing—or if there was something more behind the words. Over the past few months, there had been these moments between them, moments that felt like they lingered a little too long. A touch that lasted a second too much, a joke that hit too close to something real.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Part of him was drawn to Remy’s easy confidence, the way he could make anyone feel like they belonged, like they were special. But another part of him—the part that was still raw from the past, still trying to piece together who he was—wasn’t sure if he could handle that kind of attention. Not now. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Still, there was warmth in the way Remy stayed close, in the way his voice softened when it was just the two of them.

Ajax pushed himself up from the bench, feeling the cool night air against his skin. He glanced over at the mansion, the lights glowing softly in the distance, but he didn’t move right away. For a moment, they just stood there in the quiet, the tension between them palpable but unspoken.

“You gonna stand dere all night, cher?” Remy asked, his voice low, teasing, but there was a different kind of tension behind it. “Or you waitin’ for somethin’?”

Ajax raised an eyebrow, trying to match Remy’s playful tone, though his pulse quickened for reasons that had nothing to do with the earlier panic attack. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the view.”

Remy’s grin widened, but his gaze lingered, his eyes searching Ajax’s face for something more. “Careful now, homme. You keep talkin’ like dat, an’ I’ll start to think you mean it.”

Ajax swallowed, feeling the weight of those words settle between them. There had always been a lightness to their banter—something easy and harmless—but now, standing here in the stillness of the night, it felt different. More real. More dangerous.

He shifted, breaking eye contact for a moment, unsure of what to say. Remy made it look so easy, like he was always in control of the situation, but Ajax wasn’t sure he was ready to follow that lead. Not yet.

“Maybe I do,” Ajax said, quieter this time, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure what part of him said them—the confident part, or the part that just wanted something solid to hold onto—but they were out there now, hanging in the air between them.

For a second, Remy didn’t say anything. His eyes flickered with something—a hint of surprise, maybe, or amusement. Then, slowly, that grin returned, but it wasn’t cocky this time. It was softer, more genuine.

“Well, well,” Remy drawled, stepping a little closer, his voice dipping lower. “Looks like you full o’ surprises tonight, Ajax. Ain’t often I meet someone who can keep me on my toes.”

Ajax felt a nervous laugh bubble up in his throat, but he swallowed it down, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “Guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Remy’s gaze lingered, his eyes tracing Ajax’s face, and for a moment, the world felt like it had shrunk down to just the two of them. The sounds of the mansion, the distant hum of the forest, even the cool night breeze—they all faded into the background, leaving only the weight of Remy’s presence and the subtle tension between them.

“Y’know,” Remy said softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “you ain’t gotta figure it all out tonight, cher. Whatever dis is—whatever you feelin’—it don’t gotta be rushed. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Ajax’s throat tightened, but not in the way it had earlier. This wasn’t panic—it was something else, something more dangerous and exciting. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure if he could even trust himself to speak.

But then Remy stepped back, giving him space, like he somehow knew Ajax needed it. “C’mon,” Remy said, his voice returning to its usual playful tone. “Let’s get inside ‘fore someone comes lookin’. Don’t need de whole mansion thinkin’ we went missin’.”

As they walked side by side, the cool night air settled around them, but Ajax couldn’t shake the lingering warmth between them. The mansion loomed in the distance, its lights softly glowing against the dark sky, but the quiet of the night felt intimate, almost like it was wrapping them in a private bubble where everything else faded away.

Remy walked with his usual relaxed gait, hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot marking their steps.

“So, dis mission,” Remy started, breaking the silence with a casual tone, “not exactly how I planned spendin’ my Friday night, y’know? Figured I’d be enjoyin’ a glass o’ bourbon, maybe a little poker. Instead, I’m out here dodgin’ lasers an’ pullin’ you outta trouble.”

Ajax smirked, side-eyeing him. “Yeah? Figured you’d be the type to enjoy a little chaos.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, mon frère,” Remy chuckled, his voice low and rich. “I do love a lil’ trouble. But I like it better when I’m choosin’ the trouble, y’feel me?”

Ajax’s heart had slowed down from the frantic pace of before, but there was something else now. Something that made it thud in his chest, a steady rhythm that matched the energy between them. He could feel it buzzing in the air. He wasn’t sure if it was Remy’s natural magnetism or the way Remy had been there for him tonight, but every quiet word, every glance felt heavier than usual.

“Guess I owe you one,” Ajax said, his voice quieter now as they reached the mansion’s entrance. He hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door. “For pulling me out of my own head back there.”

“Non, cher, you don’t owe me nothin’,” Remy replied, stepping in after him, his tone more serious but still soft. “We all got our ghosts, yeah? Sometimes it jus’ takes another lost soul t’ help you find your way back.”

There was that softness again, the mask slipping for just a moment, and Ajax felt it hit him in a way that left him unsettled. Remy had always been good at reading people, at knowing how to say just enough to make you feel like you weren’t alone. But tonight, it felt personal, like Remy wasn’t just talking about Ajax’s ghosts—he was talking about his own.

They walked down the quiet halls of the mansion, the atmosphere shifting now that they were back inside. The walls felt larger, the space between them smaller. Ajax glanced over at Remy, stealing another look as they moved in sync. He couldn’t help noticing the way Remy’s coat brushed against his legs, the way his hair fell just slightly over his brow, and the way his lips curved into that lazy smile, almost as if he knew exactly what Ajax was thinking.

“So, what’s next?” Ajax asked, his voice a little rougher than he intended.

Remy glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “What’s next? After tonight? Well, I been thinkin’ ‘bout hittin’ de sheets, maybe catchin’ a few hours o’ sleep. Unless y’got somethin’ else in mind, cher.”

Ajax’s stomach fluttered at that last part, and he cursed how easily Remy could make everything sound like it had a double meaning. Maybe it was just Remy being Remy—light-hearted, playful, always testing boundaries—but tonight, it felt different.

They reached Ajax’s room, the door standing slightly ajar, and for a moment, Ajax hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, or maybe he was, but he didn’t know how to act on it. His hand hovered over the door handle.

Remy leaned against the doorframe, watching him with those sharp, knowing eyes. “You alright, homme? You look like you tryin’ t’ solve a puzzle in dat head o’ yours.”

Ajax chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, something like that.”

The laughter faded, and the silence between them grew heavy again. Ajax knew he could just walk inside, say goodnight, and let everything stay as it was. The safe option. But as he stood there, staring at the slightly open door, he realized how much he didn’t want that.

He wanted more.

Without thinking, Ajax turned back to Remy, his heart hammering in his chest. He stepped closer, closing the space between them until he could feel the warmth radiating off Remy’s body. He didn’t know if the Cajun would pull back or make another joke, but the way Remy’s gaze flickered—briefly surprised, then curious—was all the encouragement Ajax needed.

“I—” Ajax started, unsure of how to say it, unsure if he even needed to. His hand faltered for only a second before he reached up, cupping the back of Remy’s neck and pulling him in.

The kiss was sudden, but not rough. It was tentative at first, a gentle pressure as Ajax pressed his lips to Remy’s, testing, feeling the way Remy’s breath hitched. For a split second, Ajax thought maybe he’d made a mistake.

But then Remy responded.

The hand Remy had kept in his pocket slid out, and he grabbed Ajax by the waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate intensity. Remy’s lips were warm, soft, and when they parted just slightly, Ajax felt a shiver run down his spine. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Remy’s kiss to feel so sure, so consuming, like he’d been waiting for this just as much as Ajax had.

Remy broke the kiss first, just barely, his lips still brushing against Ajax’s as he spoke. His voice was low, husky, and full of that familiar teasing tone, but there was something deeper there too. “Well, cher… wasn’t expectin’ dat t’night.”

Ajax’s breath was shaky, his heart racing now for an entirely different reason. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Me neither,” he admitted, his fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of Remy’s neck. “But… I don’t want to stop.”

Remy’s grin widened, the tension between them thickening as his hand slid up Ajax’s side, his fingers tracing the hem of his shirt. “Ain’t no need t’ stop, mon frère,” Remy murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Ajax’s ear now, sending a jolt of electricity through him. “Not unless you want to.”

Ajax’s resolve snapped, and he kissed Remy again, harder this time, pulling him into the room. The door swung shut behind them with a soft click.

The next moments were a blur of hands and mouths, of clothes being pushed aside in the heat of the moment. Remy’s hands were everywhere—on his back, his chest, sliding under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. Ajax couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t get close enough. He tugged at Remy’s coat, pushing it off his shoulders as they stumbled toward the bed, lips never parting except for quick, ragged breaths.

Remy’s laugh was low and breathy as he shrugged off the coat, his fingers quick and deft as they worked the buttons of Ajax’s shirt. “Damn, cher… when you take initiative, you don’t mess around.”

Ajax didn’t have the breath to respond, not when Remy’s lips were on his neck, kissing a trail down to his collarbone. His shirt fell open, and Remy pushed him back onto the bed, following him down with a slow, deliberate grace that made Ajax’s head spin.

Remy hovered over him, their faces inches apart, and for a moment, he just looked at Ajax—really looked at him. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from Ajax’s forehead, his touch surprisingly tender after everything that had just happened.

“Y’sure about dis?” Remy asked, his voice lower now, more serious. The teasing was gone, replaced by something softer, something real.

Ajax nodded, his breath still coming in short gasps. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Remy’s smile returned, softer this time, and he leaned down, pressing another kiss to Ajax’s lips—this one slower, more languid, as though they had all the time in the world. And for tonight, maybe they did.

As Remy’s lips moved slowly over Ajax’s, the world outside their room seemed to fade entirely. The mansion was quiet, the only sounds now the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional ragged breath escaping between them. The kiss between them deepened, but it wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate, measured, like they were savoring each moment, each second of contact.

Ajax’s hands slid up Remy’s back, feeling the strength beneath the fabric of his shirt. His heart was pounding, not from panic this time, but from the sheer intensity of the moment. He hadn’t expected this when the night began—hadn’t expected to feel something so real, so grounding. But as Remy hovered over him, their bodies pressed together, it felt like the natural conclusion to something that had been slowly building between them for months.

Remy’s fingers were expert, nimble as they worked the remaining buttons of Ajax’s shirt. He pushed the fabric aside, revealing Ajax’s chest, and leaned down to press his lips to the warm skin there, the sensation sending small shivers through Ajax’s body. His lips traced a slow path from Ajax’s collarbone, down the center of his chest, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

Ajax gasped, his fingers tangling in Remy’s hair as his body arched slightly in response to the touch. Every point of contact between them felt electric, like sparks igniting wherever Remy’s lips or hands moved.

“Remy…” Ajax breathed, his voice catching slightly on the name.

Remy’s head lifted slightly, his red-on-black eyes glinting with a soft kind of mischief, but beneath it, there was something deeper—an intensity that Ajax hadn’t seen in him before. “Oui, cher?” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Y’need somethin’, homme?”

Ajax’s breath hitched again, the teasing note in Remy’s voice making his pulse quicken. But beneath the teasing, there was a tenderness, a care in the way Remy was taking his time. The Cajun wasn’t rushing him, wasn’t pushing. Remy was simply there, offering Ajax the space to take what he wanted, to move at his own pace.

“I… I just…” Ajax struggled to find the right words, his mind a whirl of sensations and emotions. He looked up at Remy, their eyes locking, and for once, he let himself be vulnerable. “I just need you.”

At that, something shifted in Remy. His teasing grin softened, and his hand came up to gently cup Ajax’s jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. “I’m here, cher. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The sincerity in Remy’s voice, so free of pretense or games, sent a wave of warmth through Ajax. He pulled Remy down into another kiss, this one slower, softer, filled with emotion more than urgency. Remy responded in kind, his body pressing closer, their skin finally meeting as he slid Ajax’s shirt fully off his shoulders.

Every touch now felt like a promise, each kiss a reassurance. It wasn’t just about lust or desire—though both were certainly there—it was about connection, about Remy grounding Ajax in the present, pulling him out of the dark corners of his mind and into the here and now.

Remy’s hands moved lower, his fingers tracing the contours of Ajax’s hips before they found the waistband of his pants. He paused for a moment, his eyes searching Ajax’s face for any sign of hesitation. “You sure, mon ami?” he asked, his voice low but serious.

Ajax nodded, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice filled with certainty this time. “I’m sure.”

With that, Remy’s hands moved to undo the button of Ajax’s pants, his movements slow and deliberate. Ajax could feel his pulse thundering in his chest, but it wasn’t from anxiety. It was from anticipation, from the way Remy’s touch sent waves of heat coursing through him.

As Remy slid Ajax’s pants down, Ajax kicked them off the rest of the way, leaving him bare beneath Remy’s gaze. For a moment, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t expected. But then Remy leaned in, his body pressing against Ajax’s, and the warmth of his skin against Ajax’s own chased away any lingering uncertainty.

Remy kissed him again, this time deeper, more demanding, but still with that same undercurrent of care. His hands roamed over Ajax’s body, exploring every inch of him with a kind of reverence that made Ajax’s breath catch in his throat. It was like Remy was memorizing him, tracing each line, each curve, with his fingertips.

Ajax’s own hands moved to Remy’s shirt, pushing it up over his head, revealing the lean, toned muscles beneath. He let his hands wander over Remy’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

Remy pulled back just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes, and then they were skin to skin, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both natural and overwhelming at the same time. Ajax’s breath hitched as Remy leaned down again, pressing soft kisses to his neck, his shoulder, the curve of his jaw.

Certainly! Let’s expand and deepen this scene, focusing on both the emotional and physical intensity between Ajax and Remy. The moment will continue to build, emphasizing the connection and the care they take with each other, as well as the trust they establish throughout the scene. This expansion will explore the moment of vulnerability as they give in to their desires, but also the emotional undercurrent that makes this more than just a physical encounter.

The slow build of tension between them had reached its peak. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt almost instinctual, each touch, each brush of skin against skin, drawing out soft sounds from both of them—gasps, sighs, and the occasional moan that filled the quiet room like music. Every inch of Ajax’s body seemed to be on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation as Remy’s hands explored him with a slow, deliberate reverence.

Remy’s touch was both gentle and firm, his fingers tracing the lines of Ajax’s body like he was memorizing every curve, every scar. And then, in a move that felt both tender and possessive, Remy’s hand found Ajax’s, their fingers lacing together. He pressed Ajax’s hand down into the mattress, anchoring them both in the moment, grounding them in the reality of what was happening between them.

“Remy…” Ajax’s voice was barely a whisper, breathless and filled with need, but it carried with it more than just physical desire. There was an unspoken plea in the way he said Remy’s name—an urgency, a vulnerability, a want for something deeper, something that went beyond the physical connection.

Remy’s eyes darkened with intensity, his gaze locking onto Ajax’s as he leaned down and kissed him again. The kiss was slow, but there was a fire beneath it, a heat that threatened to consume them both. Ajax could feel it—the way Remy’s arousal pressed into him, the way their bodies fit together, like they had been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them had realized.

But then, just as the kiss deepened, Remy pulled back slightly, his breath hot against Ajax’s lips. His hands didn’t move; they stayed where they were, steady and sure. But his eyes searched Ajax’s face, looking for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt.

“Cher…” Remy’s voice was low, almost a growl, but there was a tenderness beneath it, a careful restraint. “You sure ‘bout dis? I need t’know you ain’t doin’ dis just t’push away what’s hauntin’ you.”

Ajax’s breath hitched at the question, at the concern in Remy’s voice. He knew what Remy was asking—he knew Remy was giving him a chance to stop, to pull back before they crossed a line neither of them could uncross. And Ajax appreciated it. He appreciated the care Remy was showing, the way he wasn’t just giving in to the heat of the moment, but making sure Ajax wouldn’t regret this in the morning.

But the truth was, Ajax didn’t want to stop. This wasn’t about running from his demons, or trying to forget the ghosts that haunted him. This was about Remy. It was about the way Remy made him feel—grounded, seen, understood. It was about the connection they had been building, the trust that had formed between them over months of banter, of quiet conversations, of shared glances that lingered just a little too long.

“Please,” Ajax whispered, his voice raw, his fingers tightening around Remy’s. “I want this. I want you.”

Remy’s gaze softened at the words, and something in his expression shifted. The tension between them was still there—if anything, it had only grown—but now there was something else, too. A quiet understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of what this moment meant. It wasn’t just about desire anymore. It was about trust, about allowing themselves to be vulnerable with each other in a way they hadn’t before.

Remy kissed him again, slower this time, more deliberate. His free hand moved down Ajax’s body, tracing a path that sent shivers through him, before sliding lower. He moved with a careful precision, his touch gentle but sure as he made sure Ajax was comfortable, made sure he was ready.

Ajax’s breath came faster now, anticipation building as Remy’s hand moved lower still, preparing him, coaxing him with a tenderness that made Ajax’s heart ache. There was no rush in Remy’s movements, no urgency to push forward. He was patient, taking his time, making sure every touch counted, making sure Ajax felt nothing but pleasure.

When Remy finally pressed himself further into Ajax, the gasp that escaped Ajax’s lips was loud in the quiet room, his body tensing for a moment at the new sensation. But the tension quickly melted away, replaced by a heat that spread through him like wildfire. The gasp turned into a moan, his fingers tightening around Remy’s as their bodies moved together.

Remy’s eyes never left Ajax’s face, watching him carefully, reading every small shift in his expression, every sound that escaped his lips. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, giving Ajax time to adjust, to find the rhythm of it. And as Ajax’s body relaxed beneath him, as the pleasure began to build, Remy’s pace quickened just slightly, the intensity between them growing once again.

Ajax’s mind was spinning, his body overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him. Every movement, every thrust, every brush of Remy’s skin against his own sent waves of pleasure rippling through him, building and building until it felt like he might come undone. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body arching beneath Remy’s, desperate for more, desperate for everything Remy was giving him.

“Remy…” Ajax moaned again, his voice rough, his free hand sliding up Remy’s back, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. The heat between them was almost unbearable now, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every movement, every breath.

Remy’s grip on his hand tightened, their fingers still laced together, anchoring Ajax in the moment, keeping him grounded even as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. And Remy’s voice—low, rough, filled with desire—was a balm to Ajax’s frayed nerves.

“You feelin’ good, cher?” Remy murmured into his ear, his breath hot against Ajax’s skin. “You look so damn beautiful like dis… can’t get enough of you.”

Ajax moaned in response, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through him. His body was trembling now, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, his mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

Remy’s movements grew more intense, each thrust sending sparks of white-hot pleasure through Ajax’s body. The world around them disappeared entirely, leaving only the sound of their shared breaths, their quiet gasps, and the feeling of their bodies moving in perfect sync.

Ajax’s grip on Remy’s hand tightened, his other hand clutching at Remy’s back as the pressure inside him built to an unbearable peak. His breath came faster, his moans louder, filled with need, with want, with everything he had been holding back for so long.

And then, with a final, desperate moan, the tension inside him snapped. Pleasure crashed over him in waves, his body trembling beneath Remy’s as he cried out, lost in the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

Remy followed soon after, his own body shuddering, a low groan escaping his lips as he buried his face in the crook of Ajax’s neck, his breath hot and ragged against Ajax’s skin.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They stayed tangled together, their bodies still joined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. The room was filled with the sound of their quiet panting, the heat of their bodies pressed together, the lingering echoes of what had just happened between them.

Remy was the first to move, lifting his head just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to Ajax’s lips. It was slow, almost lazy, filled with a kind of tenderness that made Ajax’s chest tighten.

“You okay, cher?” Remy murmured against his lips, his voice soft but filled with concern.

Ajax nodded, his body still trembling slightly, but the tremors were from the aftershocks of pleasure rather than fear or anxiety. He felt… safe. Grounded. Like for the first time in a long time, he was exactly where he needed to be.

“Yeah,” Ajax whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. “I’m more than okay.”

Remy smiled at that, a satisfied, almost smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to Ajax’s temple. “’Cause I ain’t done wit’ you yet.”

Ajax chuckled softly, his body still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened, but there was no mistaking the warmth spreading through his chest at Remy’s words. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He wasn’t running. He was here, with Remy, and for the first time in what felt like forever, that was enough.

They stayed like that for a while—tangled together in the sheets, bodies pressed close, the quiet hum of the night settling around them. And as Ajax drifted off to sleep, his head resting against Remy’s chest, he realized that this wasn’t just about the physical connection. It was about something more. Something real.

And for the first time in a long time, Ajax felt like he wasn’t alone.

[lipglossanon]

wild unhinged idea,,, sorry for so many long asks i really cherish your mental health and i feel bad filling your inbox so much with such long ideas but i hope you’re doing better <33333 (i can’t remember if you said this or not but i remember you said monster fucking is underrated and my brain conjured up this mess, i hope it doesn’t overstep boundaries,, love you <3)

las plagas dark!stepdad leon one shot,,,,,, like he goes on a work trip to Spain and comes back different but not like ~bad~ different 🤭, like equally as possessive and unhinged just something’s are more noticeable like his monster dick 👀 like black veins fading up his arms, an incessant need for biting you and tasting your blood slightly more than the usual or at the least he’s not leaving the marks in places just he can see, a longer tongue 🫣, more pronounced canines you get the vibes,,,,, eventually your mom goes out of town and it’s just you and leon and you wake up tied to the bed face down while he tentacles you everywhere (that is now a verb lol). down your throat- blocking your nose occasionally, prodding your back to see what makes you wet, spreading you open with his claws and grabbing your ass till your skin is bruised and bleeding. after days of him using you in the most obscene ways he finally lets you see him and the universe can’t save you now lmao, his cock is longer and thicker (how?!) than before making you cry before it even hits the back of your throat from the girth alone while he tells you you’re his good girl and strokes your hair followed by skull fucking you into oblivion �� and like imagine calling plagas leon daddy, he’d malfunction 🤭 also like lactation plus plagas leon or like period sex plus plagas leon 🤔 not asking you to write it but like how would that go??? probably too well 🤭 and we know he loves eating you out- how far can that tongue go though? 👀,,,,, also canon divergence??? kinda?- i guess lol but barbed dick plagas leon? similar functionality to knotting but make it MonsterFucker??? (i also think i just discovered dark stepdaddy leon is just plagas leon minus the parasite writing this and trying to distinctly make it plagas leon but it’s just Unhinged Horny™️ leon, like dark stepdad would definitely get permanent vampire fangs just to bite you 🤭)

- 💀

(it’s so long already but my brain had a partial thought sorry if it’s overstepping any boundaries i just kinda bullshitted my way through this before i forgot lmao,,, you wake up head facing the bed realizing you’re- suspended? by what? trying to grasp your surroundings you look to the other side vaguely seeing tentacles out the corner of your eyes before seeing Leon for the first time since you woke up in here. he looks, more muscular with faded black veins everywhere, 👀 he watches you look at him studying the way your body responds almost- clicking? in response, you moan loudly feeling something wriggle it’s way into your pussy trying to tighten your walls around it you realize something- two something’s? are holding you open before searing pleasure washes over you at the feeling of that- tentacle? latch onto your g spot making you cum without a second thought so overcome with pleasure. you finally open your eyes to see Leon next to you stroking his cock, barely able to get his hand around the base, thumb more than an inch away from his fingers. eyes watering you realize he’s not even hit the back of your throat and your lips are already stretched to the point of bleeding, you must black out because when you wake up he’s holding your throat with his claws, digging them in slightly while fucking your face to the point of pain. the haze of everything makes it hard for your senses to tell if he’s close but he finally releases himself in the back of your throat screaming around his length you feel- barbs? he grabs your hair forcing all he has down your throat the pain quickly absolving into euphoria as his body violently shudders and the barbs retreat leaving you coughing up blood before a tentacle covered in black goo shoves it way down your throat. you feel electricity course through your body at the sudden intrusion before it’s replaced with shock and violent squirming when a tentacle makes it was onto your clit, making you succumb to the pleasure. you watch Leon stand between your legs pushing his foreskin back to expose his tip, leaking the same black goo as the tentacles inside you and to your horror and excitement you watch him roll his neck and the black veins become more prominent when he runs his fingers over his tip and his entire cock lengthens and the girth- no way that’s going to fit in you. he lines himself up with your held open cunt, screaming when you’re stretched even further so he can barely shove in the tip alone- once he’s bottomed out you see a prominent bulge lower in your belly from how deep he is moaning in ecstasy as the onslaught of sensations mingle with each other. he’s so deep in you at that point your own pleasure became background noise to you, only feeling the need to have your stepdad cum in you over and over again when finally his mandibles release your face and his tongue retreats from so far down your throat you’d think he was in your stomach. swallowing the goo you shuddered as you came quickly screaming the most blood curdling scream you could as the barbs on his penis protrude once again this time into your walls as you pulse around him milking him for all he has which if you had any sense of time you’d think it wasn’t that long until you watched the sunset out the window, realization set in your stepdad had been in you the entire day, barbs still pricking your walls as you feel another orgasm wrench it’s way through your body every few minutes? hours? you must’ve passed out, waking up in your mom and Leon’s bed thinking it was all a dream but quickly realizing your stepdad was on top of you- and still in you, barbs and all, the thought alone of all that happened hours? ago has another orgasm washing over you making you spasm, while- looking normal as before- your stepdad whisperers “it’s easier if you don’t move too much sweetie, keeps it from taking me over again”. before dropping his head back into the crook of your neck.)

💀 anon, I am dead

And this is what killed me: “it’s easier if you don’t move too much sweetie, keeps it from taking me over again”.

The whole thing has me wanting to gnaw on my walls like a rat 🐀

I have nothing to add but I will be thinking thoughts friend 🤭

[puppetgearing]

soo me must hear about how cat hybrid ppgear deal with their heat together :3 🎤 how can you tell their heat is starting? does kitty wanwan leave bites all over kitty niko when breeding him? perhaps when kitty wanwan gets hard from chasing and pinning kitty niko down, he’d take advantage of his position on top and move to sit on niko’s face because wanderer loves the feel of niko’s paws kneading his thighs as he takes his cock down his throat 🤔

AWEA IM GOING TO BURST YOUR WALLS

anyway....... btw idk abt others but my version of hybrid does have them with a few bit of fur on their body (similar to i.zutsumi from d.unme) 👉👈

I'D LIKE TO THINK THAT THEY TRIED TO HIDE THEYRE IN HEAT WHEN IT COMES TO IT QJDJSJDJ but like... its really obvious

kitty wan becomes so SO much more touchy, he'd find his claws all over kitty niko whenever he has the chance (while trying to play it off) and when it's near the day of their heat he just hold onto niko's paws a little tighter than usual, straight up hiss or growl if he tried to move away. he also often get his smell on to niko to "claim" him essentially by rubbing himself (both ways 👁 👁) when niko is asleep so ppl knows this one belongs to him JQJDJSJD

and niko becomes clingy-- not that he isn't clingy before but it doubled when its near their heat day, he'd constantly follow kitty wan around and rub his head on his chest, make lil biscuits and essentially makes himself comfy (ngl this sounds like omega behaviour in omegaverse omfg o(-(), he'd also, uh... probably be more bold in conveying his neediness near the day of heat, practically sitting spread eagle on kitty wan's laps.... o(-(

ALSO THE LAST POINT ?!?!?! HELLO ?!?!?! YEA HE'D DO THAT-- when their play time gets rough and it activated that instinct of him to claim dominance over niko, he gets... creative 👁👁 with his action and that includes sitting on his face 🫣

[halfetirosie]

☠😱🔪 It's all Fun and Games until somebody commits manslaughter!!! 🔪😱☠

(Exercise 17 - 20 React-os!)

1) Wait, he actually heard the story from somewhere???

I assumed he just made it up himself!

2) HOLY SHIT BRO, THIS IS ACTUALLY LEGITIMATELY SCARY!!! 😨😨😨

Not gonna lie; I know it's fake, but this still freaks me out.

It hits me in a psychological sort of way, because we've seen Blade get hurt before; so seeing him badly hurt both feels too-close-for-comfort, and builds on the familiar fear of loved ones getting hurt.

PLUS, seeing Blade acting weird reminds me of when his programming was externally tampered with in ArmyxBloodxOath, so I'm getting a wee bit of war flashbacks...

3) ....I say all that, but then my boi goes and ruins my immersion!!! 😂😂😂😂😂

There's nothing like saying "Lord Jackass" to completely ruin the spooky atmosphere!

4) YOOOOO WTF?!?!?! (⊙ᗣ⊙) 

DAMN, THEY'RE EVEN ADDING SOME BODY HORROR TO THIS SHIT??? TALK ABOUT DEDICATION!!!

Blade deserves a lil' treat after this for giving the performance of a lifetime!!!

(Come to think of it, Blade is actually a really good actor, isn't he? 🤔 I mean, when he's actually giving it his all. Like during Idol Fest when he acted as a "prince" character, he did a good-ass job; and he's doing a good-ass job now, too!!!------Damn, now I really want to see an event where Blade performs in a play or something!!!!!)

5) Ah yes, a masked psycho---the perfect role for Rei!!! :D

Dude, you just know Rei's having a little too much fun pretending to be a serial killer!

"The guy with the bird"??? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Not my mans never remembering people's names.... 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ (Shoutout to that moment in Festive Glimmer when he also didn't remember Quincy's name!)

Nah but, shouldn't Dante know Rei's now by now? Rei's hovered around him and teased him on more than one occasion...

6) Hell yeah, Eerie Escapade reference!!!!

I LOVE when the characters reference past events!!!

It just makes the stories feel more substantial, ya know? Like they carry more weight. (I wonder how Vlad is doing? I want an update on him!)

Ohhhhh, I see! So it's not so much the ghost that scares him---after all, he dealt with Vlad just fine---but the scary story that got to him. That makes more sense.

7) HOLY SHIT, KARU ALMOST KILLED MY WIFE!!!! 😱😱😱😱😱😱

IMAGINE IF HIS CLAWS WENT IN JUST A LITTLE FURTHER!!!

HE COULD'VE SLASHED EDMOND'S FUCKING THROAT!!!!!

JHBHQBR#$*#$FO!IJVNKJNW@##@!!!

!!!!!!!

*static*

🎶 We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please wait for us to fix the problem. Thank you for your patience. 🎶

🎶🎶🎶

🎶🎶🎶

*static*

Fuck, dude.....

....On a lighter note, it's very entertaining to think about Edmond running around with a sheet on his head, taking his silly task as seriously as ever! :D

8) Damnnnnn, Olivine! Back at it again with the smart-ass ideas!!!

Olivine is seriously CRUSHING it this event!

9) Wait, did Eiden actually understand what Topper was saying here, or was he just assuming?

Because, like, it is canon that Eiden ocassionally understands what Topper says, and he might slowly be learning his language, you know?

I just bring this up because I really, really hope Eiden did understand Topper, because I desperately want Eiden to eventually be able to have full conversations with the lil' homie!!!

10) The heroic return of

🐍 YAKUMO-JUMPSCARE!!! 🐍

BRUH, this is the second time one of the clan members almost fucking DIED because of their prank!!!

That is pretty true-to-life, tho. Like, it's not uncommon for irl-pranks to go very wrong because the fight-or-flight response of the prank-ee happened to be "fight." Like when they jump out to scare someone and end up getting reflex-punched.

11) Classic Introvert Dad Quincy, with absolutely no fucking clue how to handle a Distressed Yakumo---

---Although, in fairness, I feel like many of the clan members wouldn't know how exactly to handle Distressed Yakumo, either.

Hell, I probably wouldn't know what to do!!! Like, look at this sobbing string-bean of a boy!!! He's inconsolable even in the best of times!!!

(ᵕ—ᴗ—)

12) An accurate description, tbh;

Foxy Grandpa over here has been slacking off since the Grill Competition, and now he makes Yakumo do all the heat-lifting!!!

Rude. 😡

13) "The emotional range of a log"

PFFFT!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

I CAN'T---!!!!

DUDE. Rei's insults are always immaculate, I swearrrr!!!!

He would be SO GOOD at making diss-tracks!!!

14) 🚨🚨🚨 SOFT KARU!!!! 🚨🚨🚨

Karu's so on-guard and fierce all the time, so seeing him act so affectionate (in the beloved Tsundere Bullshit™ flavor, or course) is such a treat!!!

Just look at that face!!! I wanna squish his cheeks!!!!! ♡♡♡♡♡

👻 End of report! 👻

[spikedsoul]

final celebration short

hey friends! here's the final little short for the follower celebration. while it's still bowser and reader, it's less romance and more about the reader making bowser realize something about peach. just kinda my own suspicion of the princess at this point in time 🤔i hope y'all like it!

King Bowser's nostrils flared as he leaned forward on his throne, smoke billowing from his nose, his lip curled back over his fangs in a snarl as his eyes bored into the poor soul in front of him. His claws were digging into the arms of the throne so hard that he was gouging deep marks into the stone. Even the sharp feeling of sulfur was beginning to tinge the back of his throat, but he knew that if he gave in to his feelings in this moment he'd never learn what exactly was going on.

This was potentially one of the most important things he's ever had to deal with, if not the most important.

"Just what do you mean, 'Princess Peach has been setting me up'?" he ground out through bared teeth. The corner of the stone arm crumbled away in his hand and he chucked it toward the front of the throne room.

You shifted nervously, eyeing the koopa guards surrounding you with spears directly at your throat.

“J-just what I said, King Bowser… y-your highness…” you fumbled. “I - I c-could explain better if I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t what?” he snarled.

You shifted again, your weight going from one foot to the other as the heels on your shoes began to feel uncomfortable. You also lightly readjusted your skirt before you cleared your throat to reply: “Having my life threatened…?”

Bowser blinked, apparently taken aback by the realization that maybe threatening someone’s life might cause them to be unable to properly explain something. Needless to say, he waved the guards off of you and they reluctantly backed into their places along the walls.

A quiet, relieved sigh escaped you, and you felt your shoulders slump a little. “Thank you. S-so, um… yeah. Princess Peach has been playing you for a long time, if you’re willing to hear me out… s-sir…”

Damn, you should’ve brushed up on how to address royalty before you arrived.

“Of course I wanna fuckin’ know! You know what–” He lurched up off of his throne and was standing in front of you within two steps. You looked up at him like a deer in headlights, eyes fully wide, and then in one swift movement he had you over his shoulder.

You yelped, quickly throwing your hands back to keep the hem of your skirt pinned to your thighs as he strode toward the door. Maybe if this had been a planned visit you wouldn’t have worn a short skirt like this, but oh well. Bowser had to know as quickly as possible what was going on! And luckily it seemed he was ready to take you seriously, although you weren’t sure you liked being taken to a more solitary location, based on how none of his troops were following him.

“So how’d all this shit start, huh?” he growled, his hand heavy across the backs of your thighs. “How’d you get that ridiculous fuckin’ idea in your head to begin with?”

You swallowed hard as you watched the sway of his tail over the arch of his spiked shell. Here went nothing.

“W-well, I’m relatively new to the area… I mean, a few years now, but that’s all. And - uh, I kept hearing about… well, you, and thought I’d do some research because the toads all made you sound like the literal worst person to walk this planet–”

He snarled sharply, gripping one of your thighs like he was about to yank you off of his shoulder; his claws dug into your skin and you whimpered quietly. “I’m not some irredeemable monster!” he snapped.

“I kn-know!”

That stopped him in his tracks.

“...You know,” he repeated slowly. “You know? What do you know?”

You swallowed and brought one of your hands around to press against his shell, allowing you a little more breath from your bent posture. Although his grip was firm on your thigh, it didn’t seem like he was going to let you down any time soon… or even keep moving, for that matter.

After a deep breath, you answered calmly, “I know the reputation you have far outweighs the actual crimes you’ve committed. I know that you’ve been basically demonized within the Mushroom Kingdom while Mario has been thrown up onto a pedestal when arguably he’s done more damage to your kingdom and troops than you’ve ever done to Princess Peach and her subjects.”

Bowser was quiet for a terrifying moment. Finally, though, he chuffed and started walking forward again, smoke trailing behind him and enveloping your senses.

You really did know. You knew exactly what he’d been fighting against for years, and dealing with, and you knew it for a damn fact. You hadn’t said the word ‘think’ once, and that gave him a little more reason to trust what else you had to say to him.

Maybe you weren’t full of shit after all? He was going to find out one way or another, but hopefully it would leave him with an ally instead of a skeleton.

“What else do you know?” he growled quietly.

You wheezed softly as he began ascending some stairs - the lip of his shell was beginning to dig into your chest, right where that tender breast tissue began(not quite your tits).

“I - I know Mario gets pardoned and celebrated… but that he’s just as much a victim as you.”

He scoffed, lightly squeezing your thigh. “That bastard?” he muttered skeptically.

You wheezed again, struggling a little to try and get a little air into your lungs. Somehow, you managed to push yourself back just enough that his shell was no longer digging into your chest… although, that did put his hand unfortunately closer to your ass than either of you intended.

“S-sorry, your shell is getting real uncomfortable,” you muttered when he quickly jerked his hand down to the back of your knee. “Anyway - yeah. Mario has no idea he’s being played.”

“If you wanted me to lay you down, you coulda just said so when you got here,” he snickered quietly, “No need to make up a whole elaborate plot for my sake.” He absolutely knew you hadn’t meant to, but hearing the noise of disgust from you was sort of worth it.

You even had the gall to reach up and pull on his horn, forcing his head away from you even as he laughed. “Pig,” you muttered.

His tail swept the ground in an emotion you couldn’t quite pin.

“Koopa. King Koopa, in fact,” he corrected.

“Right… anyway, sir, you and Mario both have been getting played by Peach. We both know she’s into him, and so she’s been using your routine kidnappings to get him to chase her… although I’m suspecting that maybe some of the more recent attempts might have actually been her idea, and not yours. I don’t have proof of that but I did hear she’d been talking about “wedding season” shortly before your latest attempt at marriage…”

“What?!”

He yanked you off of his shoulder and held you up in front of him, his hands under your arms. You squeaked, unable to do much but bring your hands to the spiked cuffs on his wrist and try not to inhale any of the smoke now absolutely billowing from his nose.

“She’s actually going to marry him?!”

“N-no!” You were forced to put your hands on his face when he pulled you closer, just trying to keep that nose away from your breathing space. “No, that’s what I’m saying!”

You coughed as the smoke began to fill your lungs. Luckily, that seemed to remind him that you were, in fact, human, and he growled as he tossed you right back over his shoulder. He kept walking, but you got the distinct impression that you were to remain quiet until you were stopped again.

So, you focused on breathing during the walk as you watched the stairs disappear behind you.

Eventually, he shoved a door open and brought you out into the cool night air; above you, the stars twinkled brightly, the moon looking rather big due to how high up Bowser's castle already sat. You could tell just by looking to your right that he'd brought you up and onto a tower balcony.

After just a few more steps, he set you down rather carefully. You blinked as you watched him walk over to the solid stone railing.

He rested his hands on the banister and leaned heavily on it, looking out over the frankly breathtaking view from the tower.

Below you, rolling hills sprawled out under the bright full moon; there was a stark difference of color even in the moonlight where the tall, dead trees of his kingdom stopped, and the shorter, lucious, living green trees of the outer land began. Tall and jagged snow-capped mountains bit at the far horizon. Closer to the castle was the soft orange glow of flowing lava, but you couldn't see the lava itself from where you stood beside the king.

The feeling of having a lock of hair tucked behind your ear brought you out of the little reverie. You looked at Bowser, mildly surprised that he not only did that, but didn’t flinch away and pretend like he’d done anything of the sort.

In fact, Bowser was sort of starting to see what you were trying to tell him about Peach… your will to come into his lands and tell him about it was definitely appealing. And out here, looking over the prettiest view in his entire kingdom, he felt like he could more rationally listen to you without exploding. If you sounded like you were lying to him, well… he could deal with you easily.

“What exactly is you tryna tell me, li’l lady?” he asked much more calmly than he had earlier. “And be blunt. It’s just us out here, so I want the brutal truth.” He gently cupped your chin, keeping your face pointed toward him.

You were silently glad for the night blanketing you two because you couldn’t stop the blush that crept into your cheeks. Hopefully he couldn’t tell.

(He could.)

You swallowed, sighed, then clenched your jaw and steeled yourself. “You’ve been chasing Princess Peach for many years, stolen her fairly easily dozens of times… At first, it was because she wasn’t expecting it. But then once Mario showed up to rescue her over and over, she realized that she enjoyed having him chase her, and how you would fight him just to keep her. She knew you’d lose to him and have to return her. And she knew you’d never hurt her.”

Briefly, you paused to swallow against your dry throat. Even though he was much calmer now, it was still nerve wracking to be telling him all of this. Especially without hard proof.

“Continue,” he rumbled.

You would’ve nodded if he hadn’t been holding your chin.

“Well, I think she learned to weaponize the ‘damsel in distress’ role. She’d put on a grand old festival or event routinely, touting how nice and calm and peaceful everything was in her kingdom, and like clockwork you’d come to ruin it someway or another and try to steal her. She never put in safeguards or really even security to make sure you didn’t crash the party, even though it should’ve been easy for her to do. She’s been counting on it, and using it as an excuse to be fawned and fought over. And… and this most recent attempt…”

You trailed off, but pressed your lips together. Bowser’s carefully thoughtful expression slowly molded into a deep scowl as he began to put the pieces together that you were feeding him.

“...She actually asked me to put it on,” he growled slowly. “She gave me the ideas and told me to make it as big a deal as possible. ‘A wedding of the century,’ she called it. Said it’d generate hype… and then let me take the fall for everything once Mario stopped it, like it had all been my idea!”

He got it.

You brought your hands up and gently placed them on his forearm, prompting him to finally let go of your face. “And she let Mario think he had a real chance at marriage for defeating you, before she just took off,” you said softly.

“So we both chumps,” he growled. He looked out over his kingdom as a deep, weary sigh forced its way out of his massive lungs.

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised at the news. Lately he’d been feeling like the past few years had just been going through the motions anyway, but now here you were telling him it was deeper than him just falling out of love. Potentially, he’d started to pick up on her manipulative ways and took an emotional step back.

“I dunno if you’d want me around,” you started softly, “but… um, I’d be willing to stay to help you figure out what to do next… if you want…”

Bowser looked down at you, your tiny stature, the lingering apprehension in your eyes. Still, there was an unmistakable sort of honesty in your expression that he couldn’t deny.

He placed his head on the side of your head as a small smile slipped onto his maw. “...Sure, princess. It took a lotta courage to come tell me this… gotta have my advisor look into it further, but if you willin’ to put up with me and work with him, you welcome to stay.”

You blinked in surprise, your face flushing; he smirked down at you.

“I-I’m not a prin–”

“You are now. C’mon, lemme show ya your new room…”

[edlihtam]

El is getting really confused with Halden 🤔

I feel a bitter laugh clawing its way up my throat, and I swallow it down. What does he want from me? Why can’t he just tell me the truth, trust me enough to let me in? Because as much as I’d like to ignore this and pretend everything is fine like I told Bodhi yesterday… this intensity between us feels so damn real. What the fuck is he playing at?

I admit, as a writer, I am having too much fun with that situation.

[purrmoon]

Any headcanons about alphas submitting to omegas out of need not want. Like omegas who are so fear induced it causes anger and they become dangerous. How would that go? In what way do you think an alpha would submit, how could they make themselves small enough for an omega to calm down to allowing them near?

sorry it took me so long to get to this nonny! it's been kinda hectic xD

anyway!

hmm 🤔

first, speaking quietly, keeping their voice even and calm. slow movements. making sure the hands are visible, palms turned up so there's no worry about hidden weapons or claws. shoulders down; they don't necessarily have to bare their throat, especially if they're worried the omega might lunge, but trying to keep it covered could set the omega off as well.

some omegas would probably appreciate the alpha making themselves smaller, but that might make others more skittish (believing that the alpha is concealing something, or protecting something from someone else, or covering an injury). i think crouching / putting the omega on higher ground is probably universally appreciated, though?

removing any visible weapons, if that's a concern, lol.

advice on specifically making themselves smaller--crouching, hunching, curling in. maybe lying down? especially on their side, but going belly up, even if you can't curl up quite as much that way, is a very vulnerable position.

outside of that... offering up a jacket or blanket, something they can wrap up in, might be welcomed. (especially if there are a lot of scents nearby; having something to focus on might help a lot!) also: making whatever area they're in feel safer, giving them defenses or some nesting material---if they don't need to leave immediately, anyway.

some omegas may respond well to scents being uncovered, but others might actually appreciate them being blocked/muffled. (i read one fic where the omega didn't respond well to scents because their prior pack had used scent to manipulate them. and then in a lot of other fics u have omegas/other dynamics freaking out because without scent its harder to determine intention!)

a pack member could try Command---though that could also make things much, much worse

regardless of what methods are used, though, i imagine the process takes a bit. (except in rare exceptions, where maybe an omega might latch immediately onto a scent or voice?) it can go quicker if the alpha, or whoever is working with them, has been professionally trained, or if there's been trust built up between them/they're pack (though i assume it would have to be new pack? or pack had only just arrived on scene, for them not to latch on immediately). but! definitely a slow process that requires a lot of patience and calm and gentleness~

[stellarred]

"Q, WE HAVE TO TALK..."

****

Q threw his arms around Picard and leaned in for a kiss. But, Picard immediately resisted and broke free of Q's tender embrace.

"What's the matter, Jean-Luc?" he asked, his velvety voice quickly trailing off to a small and nervous whisper.

Picard paused, sighed heavily, and then turned to face the entity.

"Q, we have to talk."

The entity swallowed, and his entire body began to feel tense.

Something was very wrong.

"Wha--what...is it, Jean-Luc?"

"I had a conversation with Guinan."

Q's mind began to race, and for the first time in his existence, he felt an uncomfortable sensation coursing through him. Panic. Panic that whatever was wrong, he would lose Jean-Luc to it.

"What did that odious creature--I-I mean, what did she--uh...say?"

"She told me...everything."

"Everything?" Q asked, his voice trembling.

"She revealed your...history, your past dealings with her," replied Picard, his eyes hardening and his lips curling in anger.

"No," Q whispered. His body felt a chill from the neck down.

"How could I have been so...so bloody stupid as to love you?!"

Q's breath caught in his throat; his omniscient brain clawing frantically for a response to calm Jean-Luc down.

Q realized that within mere seconds, his capitaine's heart was hardening and turning against him in front of his very eyes.

A catastrophe in the making.

"I was an adolescent when I tormented her family and people. I was young and I didn't mean--"

" DAMN YOU, Q!! HOW COULD YOU? Guinan has always been a dear friend. Her friendship is priceless to me, and I have been having an intimate relationship with the one person who has inflicted so much pain in her life!"

"Jean-Luc, please listen to me!"

Picard turned away from him. Q's eyes filled with tears, and his body shook with increasing despair. Q desperately tried to reach for Jean-Luc.

"Get away from me! I never want to see you again!" Picard snapped.

"Jean-Luc, stop!!! Let me explain!" Q cried reaching out for him again.

Picard pushed Q's hands away.

"It's over, Q. I may not have the ability to physically resist you. But, my heart will never open to you again."

Q's face, now completely red, suddenly crumpled into a mess of sheer despair.

He vanished into space, and shot across the galaxy and passed two others before stopping at a nebula where he exploded into a fierce wail of sorrow.

Then, Q suddenly woke up next to Picard, drenched in a sweat. "A nightmare. I don't have bad dreams. I don't dream at all unless it's a shared dream with Jean-Luc. How horribly human of me," he muttered to himself..

He looked over and put a hand on Jean-Luc's shoulder. His Favorite was sound asleep and nestled next to him, unaware that his omnipotent lover had just experienced his first and only nightmare.

He sat up in bed.

"What HAS that imp said to Jean-Luc about me? What has Guinan told him?" Q wondered, narrowing his eyes.

****

LET'S ANALYZE!

Picard learned in Q Who that Q and Guinan are enemies with a history.

Did Guinan ever tell Picard what happened? 🤔

If she had, it could've ruined any chance of Qcard ever happening.

Picard has always been close to Guinan, and to let her best friend have an intimate relationship with her enemy when he would listen to her wisdom? How could she let him?

If she did tell Picard, then Picard developed feelings for Q despite Guinan's revelations about Q. 👀👀👀

What if Picard NEVER asked her about Q at all beyond what we saw in Ten Forward in Q Who? It's doubtful, but what if he didn't want to know because of his repressed desires for Q?

Did Picard want to essentially make his own judgement about Q?

What do you think, Qcard Nation?

[astrxlfinale]

I think you'd pull off a great Amber, Jace. /nods intensely.

Okay, okay, okay, on a very serious note: and this may be an odd one, but for some reason he came to mind, Albedo. I mean honestly, it's likely because of the intense lore tied to his character, and you lose your mind over lore. Otherwise, in terms of 'dramatic'/theatrics, this may seem odd, but Lyney, I think you have a way of writing that could be perfect for him. And while not for the exact same reasons, I also want to note Venti for... well, semi-similar reasons, actually, even if they're wildly different kinds of 'dramatics'. And in terms of very, VERY odd ones out, but one I am wondering about very curiously now: Wanderer.

Hmm... 🤔

To think @araneitela threw down the gauntlet. Welp. My Wanderer it is. |

To be upon a mass grave of the divine, to try and cultivate life in the means of living in perpetual weakness. The same weakness that triumphed is false ascent.

Laughable. That fact has never changed to the Nameless roaming the vast deserts of Sumeru, another veritable grave where the living make their home.

An intentionally drawn mission has led him away from the eden made by Kusanali's hand and wisdom. To escape the lands of crisp emerald, to indulge in the barren lands that demand fortitude. Each step upon the crisp sand lead him closer to his goal, one that's burgeoned by a past displaced. To think it'd be the wave of crushing guilt that would've led to an even 'worse' circumstance. For him to be the bearer of many sins, all before countless eyes who have now forgotten.

Who was he to complain? As the loser, and now the prisoner, a natural law dictates that he comes to face the brunt of his punishments with diligence and whatever tattered grace that remains. Maybe that's why in a way, this land that simply grates its natural weight upon any and all, that demands for them to rise held a comfort in the depths of difficulty. It scratched an innate itch left in a pit of vast delusions once carried by his hand.

"..Hm?" A subtle shift in the wind, as if the sacred stance of Anemo offered a warning seconds before the situation itself arrives. The crackling roar of thunder barely eclipsed the scream of the weak he heard in the distance. A familiar sound, as he still remains a conductor of countless variants of that very noise, all from the throats of beast and man alike. As a bubbling frustration sears within his gut, he'd allow gravity's law to be removed like a shedded coat.

"Always the weak that intend to trespass their limitations."

He'd immediately zip from his current place and blast towards the west. Sophisticated builds of Anemo would serve as his makeshift and malleable wings, allowing him to cross the vast reaches of cliff sides, ravines and tomb like outcrops of rock within an instant, all for his predicted sight to internalized within his gaze.

A predator robbing the graves of the divine, all before the fragility of humanity.

Now just how many times has he seen such a scene play out?

"Is dying really such a temptation to you? Off the ground!" His order is drawn, causing the lost traveler to snap from their panic, prompting them to narrowly avoid the bone encrusted claw of a consecrated beast. The Wanderer's part begins amidst the scorpion's follow up attack.

Once heated grazes of Anemo immediately escalate, losing that desert bred warmth and acclimating to a will of wrathful zephyr. The Wanderer's turned the amiable winds into a set of carnivorous fangs, eroding at the beast's assault as within a snap moment of exertion, that entire arm of the beast found itself bisected, it's claw shattered as a fountain of ichor spilled from it's veins.

"Already lost your own sentience. Pathetic." Draws his scathing remark. Just as the abomination recoils from the shock and force, it'd immediately be stalled, as if an invisible hand amidst the mind numbing pressure had frozen it in place. What was once a sight of awe for the traveler immediately turns into horror, as the sight before him was elevated into a scene of carnage. The dome of wind sealed this beast's fate. Enduring cuts and crushes until its entire frame was reduced to a bloodied paste.

Anemo within his Authority would give it's victory cry through piercing gale, contently accepting another sacrifice as the turquiose light of his Vision rings a somber melody.

Only then would the Nameless make his landing, the mere reaction of the rescued being to immediately scurry away causing a subtle chuckle to bubble forth. Predictable. Before greater power, what was the lesser's response than to fear?

"Be frightened as a potential meal, terrified at someone who saves you fate from such. Aren't you boundless in that greed of such an avid reaction?"

"...Who!"

All it took was the unnatural sharpness of his eyes to halt any such commentary.

The one once known as Scaramouche remains well versed in eliciting such emotion.

"Enough. If your life is valuable enough to avoid calamity, but worthless to the point you refuse to refine your method of survival, crawl back to the home you scurried from. You won't get a second chance." In many ways, a brief reflection of his own vulnerabilities, once held, and countless still enduring are reflected within those eyes. Is this what introduces the Archons insistence in allowing his fangs to defy this world to wane? Valuing this.. helplessness?

Even if Kusanali insists is where the a golden thread of purpose can lie for him. As always, he believes she's too soft upon the flock of humanity underneath her banner in Sumeru.

And thus, he departs.

_________

Okay so with me getting that out of my veins. Let's break down a few thoughts! Amber I can actually see myself slipping into the shoes off well enough. In terms of Albedo and Venti, I'd motion them more towards interesting case studies for me look into. Honestly speaking, the Lore aspect of a character, despite how invested I can be in them, holds a disconnect of whether I can get into the driver's seat.

Where we'd take dramatics, I'd actually refer to this as 'Reaction.' I do genuinely enjoy characters who can live in their intensity or their warmth. This is what makes it difficult for me to play characters who are required to hold their cards close to their chest professionally. So for Lyney! I'd see me enjoying doing the bombastic note of his magic shows, but not really much beyond that. -.o

As for the Wanderer? Well, I hope the above speaks for itself. LOL. I can do something with that.